i  $ 


i  Ji 


.','v- •-";•-'".  1 11 1        • : 
;  ;  1  ~  m  I  '-'v.- 


M    -  mm 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


HAMMERSMITH. 


HAMMERSMITH 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS. 


CHRONICLED  BY 

MARK   SIBLEY  SEVERANCE. 


"  Without  a  model,  and  without  an  ideal  model,  no  one  can  do  well." 

JOUliEUT,  translation  of  CALVEBT. 

"  For  as  the  steele  is  imprinted  in  the  soft  waxe,  so  learning  is  engraven  in  ye  minde 
of  an  young  Impe."  — JOUN  LYLY,  £uphues. 

"  Naraque  habitat  modico  multa  Minerva  loco." 

Dn-ina  Jterelatio  Erythreoi  Sibylla,  1508. 

"Toil,  with  rare  triumph,  case,  with  safe  disgrace, — 
The  problem  still  for  us  and  all  of  human  race." 

LOWELL,  Under  the  Great  Elm. 


EIGHTH    FDITIOV. 


BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 

New  York:  11  East  Seventeenth  Street. 


1887. 


COPYRIGHT,  1878, 

BY  MARK  SIBLEY  SEVERANCE. 
All  rights  reserved. 


To  HARVARD  MEN 

AND 

ALL  OTHER    GOOD    FELLOWS, 
This  Chronicle, 

UXDEBTAKEN  TO  BEGUILE  A  LONG  SEMI-TBOPICAL 
SUMMER, 

Cs  Dctotcatcli. 


**#  IT  is  well  for  readers   to   know   that  these  pages  were 

written  many  thousands  of  miles  from  the  scenes  which  they 

attempt    to    describe,  —  a   fact    that    must    be    the  excuse    for 

anachronisms,    or    other    errors,   which    may    have  become    so 

imbedded  in  the  body  of  the  book  as  not  easily  to  be  removed 
by  the  reviser's  skill.  *** 

Los  ANGELES,  CAL.,  10  Jan.,  1877. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAG* 

I.      IN  WHICH  THE  CURTAIN  GOES  UP  WITH  CHEERS       .     .  9 

H.    SOME  OF  THE  BRANCHES  OF  THE  STOUT  HAMMERSMITH 

TREE- 20 

HI.    THE  INQUISITION  OF  THE  BiG-Wics 33 

IV.    A  SCRIMMAGE  AND  A  SUDDEN  ALLY 43 

V.    WHICH  DISCLOSES  A  MODERN  FORUM 64 

VI.    A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS 78 

VII.    EXHIBITING  A  LION-HUNTER  AND  HIS  DEN    ....  88 

VJLLL.    IN  WHICH  HAMMERSMITH  QUITS  THE  VERDANT  FIELDS,  104 

IX.    A  FRESH  EXCURSION  INTO  VERDANCY 122 

X.    A  LITTLE  ACTRESS  IN  MORE  SENSES  THAN  ONE    .    .  132 

XI.    IN  WHICH  MR.  TOM  ALMOST  SMELLS  GUNPOWDER  .    .  153 

XII.    STRANGE  BEHAVIOR  OF  MY  LORD  TUFTON 172 

Xm.    CROSSING  SWORDS  WITH  THE  FACULTY 199 

XIV.    THE  HAMMERSMITH  RUBICON 217 

XV.    A  SUMMER  CRUISE 238 

XVL    JUNIOR  YEAR,  WITH  A  SECOND  PHILIPPIC  FROM  BREESE,  248 

XVH.    A  DANGEROUS  SIDE-SADDLE 267 

XVlil.    Miss  DARBY  LEADS  A  "GERMAN,"  AND  BREESE  LOOKS 

ON 286 

•     XIX.    AN  OLD  FRIEND  ON  THE  WESTERN  HORIZON     ...  311 

f  XX.    A  'VARSITY  ACCIDENT  AND  MORE  REVELATIONS    .    .  328 


8  CONTENTS. 

t-'HAPTEB  PAGH 

XXI.    THE  GREAT  QUINSIGAMOND  EACE 344 

XXII.    A  MOUNT  DESERT  EPISODE 365 

XXIII.  SENIOR  YEAR,  AND  ANOTHER  PLUNGE  BY  BREESE  .  379 

XXIV.  IN  WHICH  A  GREAT  MANT  PEOPLE  ARE  BOWLED  OVER,  386 
XXV.    A  WORLDLING'S  ADVICE,  WITH   A   SPEECH  FROM 

MR.  TOM 403 

XXVI.    A  GALLOP  FOR  A  SENORITA 422 

XXVII.    WAR-NOTES  AND  OTHER  SURPRISES 435 

XXVIII.    Miss  DARBY  AND  MR.  TOM  ON  THEIR  HIGH  HORSES,  444 
XXIX.    IN  WHICH  SOME  PRETTY  BARBARIANS  INVADE  THE 

QUADRANGLE 453 

XXX.    THE  WORLD  is  SET  HUMMING  FOR  HAMMERSMITH,  470 

XXXI.    CLASS-DAY,  AND  A  TALK  OF  SPURS 479 

XXXII.    EXEUNT  Oxiro .    .    ,  .500 


HAMMERSMITH. 

CHAPTER  I. 

IN  WHICH  THE   CURTAIN  GOES  UP  WITH  CHEERS. 
"  Quid  turbos  est  apud  forum?  " —  TERENCE. 

MANY  magnificent  j^outh  were  gathered  about  the 
steps  and  through  the  corridors  of  Parker's,  —  a 
famous  Boston  hostelry  of  less  than  a  hundred  years  ago. 
There  was  pushing,  jostling,  loud  talking,  and  excited 
grouping.  Coaches  and  hacks,  drags  and  tilburies,  and 
every  manner  of  turnout,  continually  arriving,  set  down 
other  gorgeous  young  fellows,  who  quickly  merged  and 
were  lost  in  the  crowd  of  their  compatriots.  Now  and 
then,  as  a  coach  drew  up,  a  rush  was  made  for  it  with 
much  friendly  ambition :  its  inmates  were  fairly  pulled 
from  their  seats,  and  carried  off  on  the  shoulders  of  their 
captors;  while  a  voice  cried  out,  "Three  cheers  for  Per- 
kins !  "  or,  u  Three  cheers  for  Varnum !  "  or,  "  Now,  fel- 
lows, tliree  times  three  for  Witherspoon !  "  as  various 
favorites  appeared ;  and  sharp,  ringing  cheers,  with  an 
explosive  snap  as  of  pistols,  went  up  again  and  again, 
echoing  loudly  from  the  stone  walls  of  King's  Chapel 
opposite. 

It  is  midsummer;   and  the  few  passers-by  are  rather 
amused  than  annoyed  by  the  jolly  demonstrations, — the 

/  o 


10  HAMMEESMITH : 

sombre  merchants  making  their  way  to  their  families 
summering  at  Nahant  and  Cohasset,  Swampscott  and 
Newport ;  the  smart  clerks  scurrying  from  the  hot  and 
depleted  city  for  a  brief  season  of  salt  sea-air  or  moun- 
tain-climbing ;  the  fair  young  beauties  returned  from  their 
bronzing  summer-pleasures  for  a  day's  tour  among  shops 
and  bazaars;  and  the  rest.  To  the  eclectic  eye  of  au- 
thority, however,  shining  above  an  elaborate  tin  breast- 
plate, and  looking  on  from  the  corner,  the  noisy  hubbub 
is  becoming  a  breach  of  the  city's  peace ;  and,  after  a 
friendly  warning  or  two,  —  "Softly,  young  gentlemen ; 
not  quite  so  much  noise,  if  you  please,"  —  the  shouting 
and  cheering  are  at  an  end,  and  the  crowd  moves  in  upon 
the  interior  of  the  hotel,  leaving  the  street  deserted,  in  the 
hands  of  the  police. 

To  a  middle-aged  gentleman  dining  with  his  nephew  in 
a  far  corner  of  the  salle-a-manger,  the  cause  of  all  this 
street- noise,  gradually  taking  possession  of  the  hotel,  and 
storming,  as  it  were,  its  very  citadel,  was  quite  a  nrystcry. 
His  pepper-and-salt  travelling-suit,  of  a  decidedly  English 
cut,  covered  a  well-knit  frame  somewhat  inclining  to  heavi- 
ness ;  and  his  gray-black  hair  and  closely-clipped  gray 
mustache  told  him  to  be  a  man  of  between  fort}'  and 
Hfty.  A  beamish  blush  on  each  cheek  rendered  a  closer 
estimate  of  his  age  difficult :  and,  by  the  same  token,  the 
brisk  waiters  under  whose  hands  he  found  himself  so  often 
in  his  roving  life  were  led  to  forage  for  the  choicest  bits, 
the  most  delicate  dishes,  for  his  table  ;  and  they  were  not 
mistaken  in  their  man. 

All  that  we  care  to  know  further  of  him  at  this  point  in 
his  history  is,  that  he  is  taking  his  first  dinner  in  Boston 
for  a  space  of  twenty  3"ears,  most  of  which  he  has  spent 
n  China  ;  and  that,  at  this  latter  stage  of  his  meal,  — • 
after  he  has  disposed  of  the  more  substantial  courses,  with 
the  aid  of  a  bottle  of  claret  and  a  half-bottle  of  sauterne, 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  11 

—  a  straight  cut  over  the  right  eye,  scarcely  visible  at 
other  times,  comes  out  as  a  blood-red  line  across  the 
forehead,  and,  like  the  Mussulman  character-signs,  seems 
to  point  to  some  early  escapade,  or  encounter  of  a  dubious 
nature.  What  or  when  this  ma}7  have  been  no  man  ever 
learned ;  and  a  way  which  he  had  of  turning  somewhat 
fierccty  upon  you  in  conversation,  with  an  interrogative 
"  Eh?  "  was  a  sufficient  bar  to  curiosity  and  impertinence 
on  all  subjects.  And,  in  the  case  of  the  scar,  there  was 
also  the  natural  instinct  which  everybody  had,  —  that  its 
origin  was  essentially  a  private  matter,  and  not  the  world's 
concern.  Young  Buddicombe,  indeed,  had  blandly  in- 
quired about  it  at  the  Engh'sh  legation  in  Canton,  while 
proffering  a  cigar;  but  the  indignant  "Eh?"  and  the 
combing-down  that  he  received,  were  the  talk  of  the  colony 
for  months  afterwards.  Capt.  Bungalow  too,  H.  B.  M. 
Royal  Fourth  Artillery,  and  Periwinkle  of  the  American 
legation,  and  various  too  inquisitive  friends  of  both  sexes 
at  home  and  abroad,  had  attacked  the  subject  in  vain. 
But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

The  health}'  appetite  which  he  of  the  blush  and  the  sea, 
carried  with  him  around  the  world  (and  what  philosopher 
shall  say  that  it  hath  not  its  value  above  learning  and 
riches?)  was  none  the  less  rugged  to-day  after  a  dusty 
ride  from  New  York  in  a  much-delayed  train.  The  young 
gentleman  opposite,  in  blue  flannel  suit  and  simple  black 
scarf,  though  far  from  a  pygmy  himself,  was  satisfied  long 
before  his  robust  and  rubicund  uncle,  at  whose  red-lined 
forehead  he  looked  with  a  sort  of  inquiring  wonder ;  for, 
to  say  truth,  he  had  seen  it  but  seldom  in  their  brief 
acquaintance. 

"  Uncle,"  said  he  at  last,  pushing  his  chair  slightl} 
away  from  the  table,  and  choosing  a  cigar  from  the  tray 
which  Charles,  the  pet  of  the  university  bons-vivans,  had 
>  rought  with  the  black  coffee,  "  was  this  house  in  vogue 
~'hen  you  were  in  college?  " 


12  HAMMERSMITH: 

"  Eh?  "  said  that  worthy,  setting  down  his  cup.  "  '  In 
vogue  '  ?  God  bless  my  soul,  3'oungster !  it  was  almost 
a  howling  wilderness  about  these  parts  thirty  years  ago. 
Far  from  being  '  in  vogue,'  it  was  not  even  built  or 
thought  of.  Why  —  Lord,  how  it  comes  back  to  me ! 
On  this  very  spot  where  we  sit  —  it  must  have  been  about 
here  —  there  was  a  musty  old  bookstore,  Maggliabeck's, 
where  the  '  digs '  used  to  come  and  poke  their  learned 
noses  into  old  black-letters  and  folios,  and  Heaven  knows 
what  rubbish.  Next  door,  towards  the  alley,  was  a  little 
milliner,  Madame  Grimaldi,  with  her  roomful  of  sewing- 
girls  :  your  grandmother  has  had  many  a  fine  head-rig 
from  that  shop,  you  may  depend,  sir.  On  the  corner  was 
an  old  coffee-house,  Harry  —  Harry  —  I  forget  his  name  ; 
a  round  little  roly-poly  of  a  chap,  with  a  perennial  '  He, 
he !  '  and  shaking  of  his  jolly  sides.  Gad,  sir,  what 
larks  those  three  shops  had  to  witness  sooner  or  later ! 
Madame  Grimaldi !  —  wiry,  I've  seen  her  chasing  a  dozen 
students  out  of  her  front-door,  while  as  many  more  were 
passing  in  by  the  little  wicket  that  gave  upon  the  coffee- 
room  in  the  rear.  It  was  surprising  what  a  rage  for  old 
vellum  and  editio  princeps,  Elzevirs,  incunabula,  and  anti- 
quarian lore  generally,  took  hold  of  the  universit}*-  all  at 
once ;  and  how  of  a  sudden,  just  about  contemporaneous 
with  the  opening  of  Madame  Grimaldi' s  shop,  a  coffee- 
diinking  mania  broke  out  such  as  could  only  be  quieted 
by  a  cosey  little  supper  at  Harry  Teabun's :  that's  his 
name,  —  Harry  Teabun.  Well,  sir,  one  night,"  said  the 
rosy  old  boy,  leaning  forward  on  the  table,  and  holding  his 
cigrr  on  a  level  with  his  eye,  as  though  he  were  talking  to 
it,  instead  of  his  nephew,  —  "one  night,  Jim  Minturu 
and  I  (I  admit  we  had  been  dining  at  Harry's,  and  ought, 
perhaps,  to  have  gone  straight  to  Cambridge),  passing 
through  the  wicket  at  the  rear  of  the  shop  —  Good  gad, 
Charles!  what  may  all  this  row  be?  "  he  exclaimed  sud 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  13 

denly,  turning  to  the  waiter  who  stood  near,  as  the  crowd 
outside,  routed  by  the  policemen,  rushed  pell-mell  through 
the  corridors,  carrying  Witherspoon,  hero  of  many  a  hotly- 
contested  boat-race,  on  their  shoulders,  and  shouting  as 
they  went.  Nor  did  they  stop  until -they  had  surged  into 
the  dining-room,  where,  seating  themselves  at  different 
tables,  and  depositing  Witherspoon  not  far  from  our 
friends,  they  broke  up  into  quieter  groups ;  while  the 
waiters,  who  stood  grinning,  were  saluted  with  such 
remarks  as,  "Halloo,  Charlie!"  "How  do,  John?" 
"  Trot  out  3'our  grub  now,  old  boys !  "  and  other  saluta- 
tions equally  familiar. 

"  '  Row,'  sir?  Harvard  class-races  to-day,  sir.  Fel- 
lows just  coming  up  for  a  little  jollifying,  sir,"  returned 
Charles,  twisting  his  napkin. 

"  Indeed !  And  who  may  the  j'oung  fellow  be  who  was 
brought  in  on  their  shoulders?  " 

"  That,  sir?  —  that  fellow  with  the  shaved  head  and  the 
mustache?  Why,  that's  the  great  Witherspoon,  stroke 
of  sophomore  crew:  just  won  the  race,  I  believe,  sir." 
And  the  uncle  and  Tom  squared  themselves  to  have  a  good 
view  of  this  young  demigod  of  the  hour  and  his  friends. 

It  is  a  striking  group,  a  motley  collection  of  all  classes 
and  types  of  students.  What  marvellous  combinations 
of  colors !  What  ferocious  cravats  and  collars,  striking 
terror  into  the  beholder !  What  a  museum  of  canes !  — the 
light,  the  herculean,  the  smooth,  the  knobby,  the  play- 
thing of  the  festive  sophomore,  the  dignified  symbol  of 
the  senior.  What  checks  and  plaids,  diagonals  and 
stripes,  careless  shooting-jacket,  English  walking-coat, 
trig  "reefer,"  and  all  the  varied  shapes  and  styles  of 
garment  known  to  Van  Nason  and  Randidge,  and  the 
other  favorite  university  tailors  ! 

Here  is  little  Fennex,  temporality  removed  from  the 
hilarious  air  of  Cambridge  by  order  of  the  college  author! 


14  HAMMEKSMITH : 

ties  for  nailing  Tutor  Lummus  into  his  room  one  fine 
night,  whence  that  agile  instructor  of  dead  languages  was 
seen  to  issue  by  the  window  for  next  morning's  prayers. 
Behold  him  now,  on  the  eve  of  returning  to  the.  kind 
mother  that  had  spurned  him,  resplendent  in  white  flan- 
nel suit,  with  a  flaming  wonder  of  crimson  neckerchief,  a 
pin  of  death's  head,  sleeve-buttons  to  match,  a  striped 
horror  of  a  shirt,  and,  oh !  such  a  jocund,  devil-ma37-care 
air,  as  of  one  that  had  done  great  deeds,  and  deserved 
well  of  his  country  forsooth. 

Here  are  the  members  of  the  crews,  fine,  stalwart  fel- 
lows, not  over-mindful  if  their  collars  flare  a  bit  in  front, 
and  disclose  their  well-tanned,  muscular  throats, — Heaven 
bless  them !  they  have  pulled  a  glorious  race  to-daj7,  — • 
Walton  and  Kinloch  and  Miles,  a  promising  freshman 
oar,  and  Talhnan,  the  celebrated  single-scull,  with  a  host 
of  others  ;  and,  topping  them  all,  Witherspoon,  stroke  of 
the  sophomores,  and  head  of  the  river  to-day,  whose 
fame  as  a  boating-man,  mutato  nomine,  will  live  long 
among  those  who  have  hung  up  their  dripping  oars  in  the 
vestibule  of  the  university. 

Pale  scholars,  flourishing  a  feeble  hilarity  by  force  of 
example,  are  scattered  here  and  there,  hail-fellows  to-day 
with  their  more  athletic  comrades, — Dwight  and  Dana 
and  Percy,  mighty  on  the  rank-list ;  and  Latimer,  paler 
than  the  rest,  head  scholar,  and  probable  orator  of  the 
juniors. 

Luxurious  }"oung  aristocrats,  patrons  of  sports,  athletic 
graduates,  gentlemen  from  the  schools,  all  classes  of  the 
young  and  middle-aged  interested  in  the  boating  rivalries 
of  Alma"  Mater,  are  on  hand  to-day,  joining  in  the  demon- 
stration. 

On  hand  also,  and  joining  in  the  festivities  in  a  certain 
way  peculiar  to  themselves,  but  not  appreciated  by  the 
timid  in  those  days  of  the  nearing  dog-star,  are  a  numbei 


HIS   HABVAKD  DAYS.  15 

of  dogs,  forbidden  property  at  the  university,  but  clandes- 
tinely nourished  in  coal-closets  and  other  hidden  retreats, 
crouching  now  among  table-legs  and  chairs,  or  coming 
out  to  add  their  notes  in  the  recognized  terrier-like  cheers 
which  then*  masters  and  their  friends  are  giving, — tailless 
ratters,  a  pointer,  a  setter,  a  truculent  bull-dog  black  of 
one  eye,  which  snaps  trap-like  at  flies  in  dangerous  prox- 
imity to  trouser-legs,  preserving,  however,  a  decent  ca- 
nine regard  for  the  immaculate  belongings  of  his  master 
Fennex,  at  whose  feet  he  lies. 

"May  I  trouble  you?  "  asked  our  middle-aged  friend,  — 
he  of  the  scar  and  the  gray  mustache,  —  leaning  toward  a 
brawnj*  young  lad  at  an  adjacent  table.  "  Has  there  been 
a  race  to-day?  and  who  has  won,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  youth,  turning  upon  him  a 
frank,  fresh  face,  such  as  we  like  to  fane}'  typical  of  col- 
lege men,  —  "  certainly.  Our  annual  Harvard  class-races 
have  just  closed  to-day.  Presume  j-ou're  a  stranger,  sir  ? 
Great  rejoicing  to-day,  as  Witherspoon  yonder,  —  fellow 
next  the  window,  —  who  pulled  stroke  of  the  winning 
crew,  is  looked  upon  as  the  only  man  to  take  the  place  of 
Wayland  in  the  'varsity  next  year.  'Twas  a  great  race 
to-day,  sir,"  continued  he,  seeing  that  more  information 
would  be  acceptable.  "  The  juniors  were  supposed  to  be 
the  strongest  crew  by  all  odds  :  betting  was  very  much  in 
then-  favor.  But  old  Witherspoon  there  rowed  a  waiting 
race  for  'em ;  and  just  after  turning  the  stake  (it  was  a 
mile  and  a  half,  and  return)  —  Lord,  what  a  spurt  he  put 
on  !  Came  in  five  lengths  ahead  ;  and  Bobbins,  bow  of  the 
juniors,  as  game  a  fellow  as  ever  pulled  an  oar,  fainted 
immediately  after  crossing  the  line.  Sony  for  him :  par- 
ticular pal  of  mine.  But  we  won  the  cup,  if  we  did  have  to 

,  work  for  it."  And  the  glowing  3~oung  fellow  wagged  hia 
head,  and  looked  at  his  open  palms,  which  were  a  mass  of 
blisters  and  torn  flesh.  At  such  cost  is  the  head  of  the 

/  river  gained 


16 


HAMMERSMITH : 


"So  you  were  in  the  winning  crew,  eh?"  asked  oui 
ancle,  beaming  upon  the  ardent  oarsman  with  a  sort  of 
fatherly  interest. 

"  I  should  say  so,"  returned  he.  "  My  name  is  Tweedy, 
sir.  Allow  me  to  show  you  the  schedule  of  the  race?" 
And,  fumbling  in  his  pocket,  he  produced  a  card,  which 
the  uncle  and  the  nephew  fell  to  examining  eagerly.  It 
ran  as  follows  :  — 


H^VUVARD    CILA-SS-R^LCIES. 
CHARLES-RIVER  COURSE. 
Saturday,  July  13,  185-. 
Distance  a  mile  and  a  half,  and  return. 

Junior. 
Pine  shell, 
40  feet  long, 
150  pounds. 

Sophomore. 
Cedar  shell, 
44  feet  long, 
162  pounds. 

Freshman. 
Pine  shell, 
33  feet  long, 
141  pounds. 

CHEW. 

WEIGHT. 
POUNDS. 

COLORS. 

CE.  H.  Walton  (stroke)     .    .    . 
1  H.  M.  Latham     
IT.  Smith     

158  1 
152 
154    1 
149    f 
140 
142  J 

162  I 
154 
150    1 
145    f 
147 
139  J 

148  1 
141 
136    1 
130    f 
133 
131  J 

Crimson 
handkerchiefs  ; 
bare  backs. 

Blue 
handkerchiefs  ; 
blue-and-white 
shirts. 

Corn-colored 
handkerchiefs  ; 
white  shirts. 

J.  L.  Perkins  

C.  T.  Abbott  

11.  Robbins  (bow)   

1C.  I.  Witherspoon  (stroke)  .    . 
II.  E.  Kinloch      

E.  T.  Curtis    

G.  Willard  

{I.  Miles  (stroke)      

O.  A.  Loring  

H.  L.  Quincy  

T.  B.  McGregor  ...... 

"  Eli?  Bow  of  the  winning  crew  ?  Gad,  sir,  I  congrat- 
ulate you  !  And  will  you  do  me  the  honor  of  presenting 
me  to  some  of  your  friends?  Allow  me,"  and  he  handed 
him  a  small  but  heavy  card,  with  "  Mr.  Gayton  Hammer- 
smith "  in  small  script  on  it,  saying  at  the  same  time, 
"  This  is  my  nephew,  Tom  Hammersmith ;  and  we  are 
very  much  obliged  to  }-ou  for  j-our  politeness,  sir.  — I  say. 


HIS  HAEVABD  DATS.  17 

Charles,"  and  between  the  champagne  which  was  ordered, 
and  the  introduction  to  "Witherspoon,  Walton,  Varnum, 
Dana,  and  others,  Mr.  Gayton  Hammersmith  felt  the  time 
slipping  away  merrily,  and  himself  slipping  back  ten, 
twenty,  thirty  years  into  the  past,  when  he,  too,  was  a 
jolly  young  student,  draining  the  cup  of  enjoyment  just 
as  eagerly  as  these  gay  boating-men,  with  just  as  happy 
an  oblivion  of  the  morrow. 

And  Tom?  He  felt  that  he  had  entered  into  a  new 
world,  with  his  uncle  as  fidus  Achates;  and  as  he  sat 
modestly  listening  to  the  general  talk  of  the  day's  sports, 
the  explanations  of  defeat,  the  gratulation  for  victory, 
the  happy  banter  of  the  different  crews,  and  his  uncle's 
none  the  less  entertaining  side-remarks  and  footnotes,  it 
was  only  by  an  effort  of  the  will  that  he  could  identify 
himself  as  the  same  Tom  who  had  imagined  himself  such 
a  genius,  such  a  sufficiency,  such  a  knowing  one,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson  so  short  a  while  ago.  His  dusty 
tutor,  and  his  saddle-horse,  and  his  lame  setter,  and  the 
humdrum  life  that  his  widowed  mother's  family  led,  — bah ! 
Here  was  the  life,  here  were  the  dashing  fellows,  for  him  ! 
Who  shall  blame  him  if  his  past  life  seemed,  in  the  face 
of  the  present,  a  mighty  stale  and  commonplace  affair,  as 
old  Pep\'s  might  say,  and  these  cheerful  youth  the  only  fit 
companions  for  one  of  his  mettle? 

Mr.  Hammersmith  has  risen  at  last,  shaking  hands  with 
Tweedy  (who  regrets  that  he  has  no  ' '  pasteboard ' '  about 
him,  —  "A.  Tweedy,  sir :  anybody  can  tell  you  where  I 
am  in  Cambridge ;  glad  to  see  you  and  your  nephew  at 
anytime  "),  and.  bowing  in  his  most  magnificent  Oriental 
fashion  to  Witherspoon  and  tl*e  rest,  walks  off  with  his 
nephew  to  their  rooms. 

'»  Regular  old  brick,"  says  Witherspoon;  "and  young 
'un   a  promising    fellow   for    the    crews,   eh?    Walton, 
Tweedy,  I  say,  three  cheers  for  Mr.  Gayton  Hammer 
/smith  1 " 


18  HAMMERSMITH: 

"  And  his  nephew,"  interposes  Tweedy. 

"No,  sub-freshman,  hang  him!"  sa3Ts  little  Fennex, 
universal  hater  of  his  race,  because  of  his  recent  u.ipleas- 
antness  at  Cambridge. 

And  Mr.  Hammersmith  turned  again  to  bow  his 
acknowledgments ;  while  Tom,  who  had  caught  just 
enough  of  the  above  colloquy  to  make  him  a  bit  unhappy, 
marched  stiffly  out  of  the  dining-hall. 

"  "Well,  Tom,  my  bojT,  what  do  you  think  of  your  new 
compatriots,  if  they  are  to  be  compatriots,  eh?  Rather  a 
sudden  introduction  to  the  '  Vita  Nuova,'  don't  you 
think?" 

"  Jolly  set  of  fellows,  I  should  sa}r,  sir.  Some  of  them 
are  regular  toppers ;  but  there  are  others  that  I  know  I 
should  hate.  What' s  the  name  of  the  little  fellow  in 
white  flannel  ?  ' ' 

"  I  don't  remember.  Don't  think  I  was  introduced. 
Why?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Tom,  who  felt  that  only  a  mortal 
combat  with  this  particular  young  student,  author  of  the 
obnoxious  epithet  "  sub-freshman,"  would  satisfy  him  in 
his  present  frame  of  mind  ;  and  his  uncle  smiled  slyly. 

They  went  to  their  rooms,  and  passed  the  small  fraction 
of  the  evening  that  was  left  in  discussing  the  men  with 
whom  they  had  been  thrown,  —  Tom  dissecting  them  in 
rather  an  off-hand,  provincial  way ;  the  uncle  according 
them  that  liberality  of  construction  which  he  wished 
granted  to  himself,  and  which  the  man  of  the  world  knows 
so  well  how  to  bestow. 

As  Tom  passed  into  the  connecting  room  to  retire,  the 
songs  of  the  men  below,  now  gathered  in  smoking-room 
and  billiard-hall,  came  pulsing  up  through  the  house,  scat- 
tering what  slight  clouds  might  have  arisen  in  his  sky; 
dnd  he  closed  his  eyes,  with  his  mind  filled  with  roseate 
pictures  and  happy  auguries. 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  19 

A  half-hour  later,  as  his  uncle  rang  to  despatch  a  mes- 
sage to  Mr.  Tom's  mother,  announcing  their  safe  arrival, 
he  looked  into  Tom's  room,  and  saw  him  lying  asleep, 
breathing  quietly.  The  fond  old  gentleman  looked  at  him 
rnrnestly  for  a  moment,  and,  with  a  hearty  "  God  bless  hia 
>oung  heart ! "  turned  to  his  table,  and  sat  for  a  long  time, 
with  his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  in  thought. 

The  window  was  open ;  and,  as  he  sat  thus  in  marked 
contrast  to  his  gayer  self  at  dinner,  the  swelling  strains 
of  "  Fair  Harvard,"  echoing  up  from  the  street  below, 
where  the  "  student-men  "  were  setting  off  for  Cambridge, 
floated  in  upon  the  night-air  to  this  graj'-haired  cosmopoli- 
tan, busy  with  the  memories  of  his  youth. 

He  arose,  and  leaned  a  while  from  the  window,  whence, 
with  a  "heigh-ho!  "  and  a  j'awn,  he  turned  before  long 
to  his  couch,  —  happy  refuge  alike  of  the  man  of  the 
world  and  the  ardent  schoolboy,  the  sorrowing  mother 
and  the  "  too,  too  happy  "  belle  fresh  from  her  "  too,  too 
lovely  ' '  ball ;  anodyne  alike  for  the  griefs  and  the  joys, 
the  hopes,  fears,  hates,  and  loves,  of  men. 


20  HAMMERSMITH : 


CHAPTER  H. 

BOMB   OF  THE   BRANCHES  OF   THE   STOUT  HAMMEKSMITH  TREE. 

"  Tour  family  J  —  I  don't  believe  you  ever  had  a  grandfather."  —  FOOTE. 
"  Ovis  sequitur  ovem  et  filius  sequitur  opera  patri  Bui." 

PAULUS  FAGIUS,  Epistola  Nuncupatoria,  1542. 

THERE  had  been  a  Hammersmith  in  the  university 
from  time  immemorial.  I  doubt  if  the  chapel-bell 
could  have  rung,  or  the  Cambridge  town-clock  have 
marked  the  hours  of  day  and  night  for  burgher  and  stu- 
dent life  alike,  if  they  had  not  known  that  they  were 
serving  some  youthful  member  of  this  flourishing  New- 
England  family,  calling  him  reluctantly  to  morning  and 
evening  praj'ers  in  the  olden  time,  and  scoring  off  the 
hours,  which  were  so  many  milestones  on  his  way  from 
downy  youth  to  confident  young  manhood. 

Certainly  the  various  Hammersmiths  of  the  last  two 
centuries  had  done  their  full  share  in  harassing  these  two 
monitors  of  duty,  from  that  colonial  night,  long  past, 
when  the  nomadic  guardian  of  the  peace,  patrolling  the 
thin  village,  and  calling  the  hours  of  the  night  in  ancient 
fashion,  captured  a  Hammersmith  in  act  of  draping  the 
'  respectable  parish  clock-dial  in  a  sheet,  showing  the 
maternal  initials  "  M.  E.  II."  stitched  in  red  in  its  cor- 
ner, down  to  these  latter  days,  when  his  not  unworthy 
descendants  and  kin  wage  war  with  paint-brush  and  tar- 
pot,  hammer  and  chisel,  against  "  the  chiding  of  the 
i.harp-tongued  bell,"  and  return  from  Astolfian  vo}rages 
to  the  steeple,  laden  with  clock-hands  and  fractions  of 


HIS  HAEVAE1)  DAYS.  21 

gilded  numerals,  to  the  no  slight  disturbance  of  the  town's 
business  on  the  morrow. 

No  wonder,  that,  when  in  stout  condition,  they  clang 
and  whir  with  an  almost  sentient  malice  at  the  thought 
that  they  are  sending  some  scion  of  this  vexatious  stock 
unwillingly  about  his  duty ;  as  though  they  said,  "  There, 
bang !  Your  grandfather  choked  my  inverted  throat  with 
coal-tar,  thermometer  at  zero ;  and  your  uncle  appropri- 
ated my  clapper  one  cloudy  night.  Bang,  bang !  —  out 
of  your  snug  bed  there,  and  away  to  dim  prayers,  bang !  " 
Or  the  clock,  "  By  Chronos,  I'm  even  with  you,  Sir  Ham- 
mersmith, for  all  your  insults  to  my  face,  and  all  your 
inherited  trophies  from  my  tower !  Plump  eleven  o'clock 
I  mark.  Your  Latin  recitation,  too  many  times  evaded, 
calls  you  in.  And,  by  the  way,  here  goes  my  pretty 
Edith  Summerdale,  as  blooming  as  the  morning,  fresh  as 
are  my  own  new  hands  ;  and  she  walks  without  an  escort. 
Away  to  your  classroom !  " 

The  university  printer,  too,  and  he  who  concocts  the 
immortal  roll  of  enigmatic  honors  for  the  sons  of  Alma 
Mater,  the  M.M.S.S.,  in  Congr.  Amer.  Deleg.  et  Eerum- 
pub.  Feed.  Repr.  et  Senator,  S.T.D.  Neo-Cces.  and  such, 
—  what  would  they  have  thought  if  at  least  one  new  Ham- 
mersmith were  not  under  their  hands  for  each  triennial 
catalogue?  Indeed,  I  have  heard  the  latter  gentleman 
declare,  —  and  the  curious  may  satisfy  themselves  by  an 
easy  computation, — that,  if  all  the  honors  and  titles  and 
name-handles  of  all  the  Hammersmith  graduates  were 
brought  together,  they  would  make  so  formidable  a  list, 
that  the  university  would  feel  prouder  than  ever  of  the 
family,  and  would  straightway  proceed  to  mark  its  ap- 
preciation of  their  concentrated  worth  by  adding  fresh 
honors  and  grander  titles. 

Everybody  in  the  service  of  the  university,  from  the 
president  down  through  spectacled  professors,  important 


22  HAMMERSMITH : 

tutors,  nimble  proctors,  punctual  janitor,  even  to  the 
ancient  "goodies,"  and  the  itinerant  "old  clo'  "  man, 
who  may  almost  be  said  to  be  in  the  service  of  the  uni- 
versity, so  faithful  are  his  visits  and  his  ministrations,  — 
all  were  accustomed  to  the  sturdy  name  of  Hammersmith, 
and  acquainted,  if  only  through  dim  tradition,  with  the 
fame  of  the  perennial  family,  its  prowess  in  all  manner 
of  sports  and  pranks,  its  sporadic  saintliness,  its  generous 
open-hearted  ness,  the  intermittent  flame  of  scholarship 
which  shone  along  the  line,  and  above  all  with  its  high 
sense  of  honor,  reaching  almost  to  a  dangerous  sensitive- 
ness. 

So  regular,  as  I  have  said,  was  the  succession  of  the 
bearers  of  this  name,  that  the  university  would  have  felt 
a  certain  incompleteness  without  one  or  more  of  them  in 
its  catalogue  and  on  its  sacrificial  benches.  What  may 
Jiave  been  the  origin  of  the  family  name,  whether  it 
pointed  back  to  a  hardier  Norseman  era,  when  the  smiths 
of  the  hammer,  the  workers  in  iron  and  brass,  were  guilds 
by  themselves,  and  held  in  higher  repute  than  in  the 
more  refined  civilization  of  to-day,  is  not  our  purpose  to 
inquire.  Certainly  the  robust  traits  which  that  origin 
might  imply  were  not  lacking  in  "their  joyous  gene- 
alogy," as  Sterne  would  call  it;  for  they  were  a  hardy, 
eupeptic  race,  with  a  Norseman's  love  of  exposure  and 
adventure,  and  an  occasional  inspired  singer  among  them 
to  illumine  their  rather  dreary  sameness  of  virtues  and 
vices. 

In  the  small  days  of  the  university,  when  the  grim  life 
of  the  colonies  was  vexed  by  "  French  Papists  on  the  one 
hand,  Indian  Pagans  on  the  other,  and  the  ambushments 
of  Satan  to  fill  up  any  gaps  of  their  leaving,"  to  adopt  the 
phrase  of  a  lovingly -remembered  professor ;  when  more 
than  half  of  the  graduates  became  clergymen,  and  went 
forth  to  fight  the  barbarous  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devij 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  23 

(with  a  wide  generalization  sufficient  to  include  Quakers 
and  Anabaptists,  as  well  as  the  more  obvious  heathen) ,  — 
there  was  a  goodly  crop  of  Eeverencls  Hammersmith  an- 
nually produced,  hard-smiting,  stern-visaged  gentry,  who 
could  do  a  day's  farming,  lay  a  stone  wall,  carry  their 
matchlocks  against  the  Indians,  or  do  the  Lord's  work, 
with  equal  earnestness  and  success.. 

On  an  ancient  commencement,  when  these;  reverend  gen- 
tlemen had  come  on  horseback,  carefully  attended,  from 
their  distant  parishes  in  the  wilderness,  you  might  have 
seen  them  walking  sedately  in  small-clothes,  ruffs,  and 
steeple-crowned  hats,  about  the  open  plain,  skirted  on  the 
east  by  marshes  and  ox-pastures,  whortleberry-patches 
and  nascent  orchards,  where  is  now  the  campus,  with  its 
arching  elms  and  well-ranged  quadrangle,  flanked  with 
halls.  A  brother  Hammersmith  from  his  Medford  farm, 
or  the  far-off  Thule  of  Plymouth,  or  a  cousin  of  different 
cloth,  from  the  Indian  war  in  Connecticut,  draws  near ; 
and  these  ancient  worthies  exchange  the  lusty  gossip  of 
the  period  with  a  gusto  born  of  family  pride,  and  a  sense 
of  their  rare  meetings.  What  stalwart  figures !  Of  what 
a  larger  life  they  seem,  as  seen  through  the  distorting 
mists  of  intervening  years  ! 

And  so  down  through  the  history  of  the  university,  the 
names  and  exploits,  the  professions  and  the  glories,  of  the 
Hammersmiths  might  be  gathered,  far  too  numerous  for 
the  scope  of  this  chronicle.  It  was  a  Hammersmith,  in 
1G65,  when  the  only  Indian  graduate,  Cheeshahteaumuck, 
was  about  taking  his  degree,  who  stepped  up  and  defended 
him  from  the  insults  of  the  Seldens  and  Vassals,  Boling* 
brokes  and  Cokes,  and  other  young  aristocrats  of  the 
time,  who  were  taunting  him  with  his  doubtAil  parentage. 
And,  as  if  following  out  this  kindly  trait,  it  was  the  Rev. 
f  abez  Hammersmith  who  aided  the  apostle  Eliot  and  the 
interpreting  Indian  in  the  translation  of  the  Bible  into 


24  HAMMERSMITH : 

the  native  tongue,  and  followed  the  apostle  among  the 
Naticks  and  other  tribes  in  his  efforts  at  Christianity. 

There  were  strong-limbed,  martial  Hammersmiths  in  the 
Pequot,  King  Philip's,  and  French  and  Indian  wars,  un- 
doing the  works  of  the  Rev.  Jabez  ;  and,  by  a  still  more 
curious  inversion,  it  was  a  madcap  of  a  Hammersmith, 
who,  many  years  later,  fired,  perhaps,  by  the  traditions  of 
his  ancestors,  was  brought  before  the  college  government 
by  an  indignant  Cambridge  citizen  for  appropriating  a  pair 
of  Indian  images  from  off  his  manorial  gate-posts  one 
cloudy  November  night. 

There  was  always  a  pushing  vitality  about  them,  which 
must  find  its  vent  in  some  way ;  if  not  by  the  hoarse 
channel  of  war,  and  the  thunders  of  anathema  from  the 
pulpit,  then  by  the  tamer  outlet  of  mere  wantonness.  If 
all  the  superfluous  animal  spirits  of  a  race  like  the  Ham- 
mersmiths could  only  be  utilized  from  youth  to  old  age, 
what  an  era  of  improvement  might  dawn  for  the  world ! 

When  that  "  wicked  book,"  "  The  Wonders  of  the 
Invisible  World,"  by  Eobert  Calef,  arrived  in  the  colony 
from  London,  and  was  burned  in  the  college-yard  by 
order  of  President  Mather,  the  records  of  the  family  set 
forth  that  there  was  a  young  sophomore  Hammersmith 
present  at  the  bonfire,  dancing  about  it  in  great  glee,  in 
company  with  his  fellows,  and  seeing  in  it  a  precedent, 
and  a  high  one,  for  the  later  fires  and  explosions  and 
effigy-burnings  which  successive  generations  of  students 
have  maintained  in  almost  unbroken  illumination,  like  the 
sacred  fire  of  the  ancient  Roman  colonies. 

To  advance  to  later  days,  you  may  be  sure,  that,  in  the 
hot  times  of  the  Revolution,  the  Hammersmiths  were  on 
hand,  and  acted  their  parts  with  spirit  and  dignity. 

When  the  General  Court,  complaining  of  the  British 
troops  and  cannon  in  Boston,  was  transferred  by  the 
governor's  orders  to  Cambridge,  and  held  its  sessions 


HIS  HAKVAED  DAYS.  25 

for  a  period  in  the  college  chapel,  the  student-life  was 
brought  into  vitalizing  nearness  to  the  stirring  events  of 
the  da}' ;  and  when  James  Otis,  himself  a  graduate  of 
1743,  before  the  opening  of  the  court  one  morning,  deliv- 
ered one  of  his  most  impassioned  orations,  and,  turning 
vo  the  large  body  of  students  present,  besought  them  to 
remember  the  example  of  the  classic  ages  which  they 
wore  then  studying,  and,  reminding  them  that  their  time 
to  do  and  suffer  for  their  country  might  come,  closed  with 
the  watchword,  "  Dulce  et  decorum  est  pro  patria  raori," 
there  were  at  least  two  Hammersmiths  in  the  throng  who 
were  fired  to  a  high  pitch  of  patriotism,  and  rendered 
good  account  of  themselves  in  the  war  which  began  soon 
after.  They  were  even  then  in  martial  training  Major 
and  Orderl}'  Sergeant  Hammersmith  of  the  Marti  Mercu- 
curian  Band,  a  com  pan}'  of  the  most  imposing  students, 
with  frequent  parades,  and  a  banner  with  the  motto 
"  Tarn  Marti  quam  Mercurio."  Of  all  that  dazzling 
squad  of  young  students  in  blue  coats  faced  with  white, 
nankeen  breeches,  top-boots,  and  cocked  hats,  the  major 
and  the  orderl}'  sergeant  were  conspicuous  for  not  only 
their  stalwart  figures  and  soldierly  bearing,  but  a  certain 
seeming  scorn  of  their  trappings,  which  became  them 
well. 

The  major,  Jacob  Hammersmith,  accompanied  Wash- 
.ngton  through  most  of  his  varying  campaigns,  and  was 
present  at  the  surrender  of  Yorktown  with  Rochambeau. 
The  orderly  sergeant,  Benjamin,  lost  his  life  in  that 
gollant  charge  at  Stony  Point  in  1779,  under  "  Mad 
Anlhouy,"  where  the  troops  advanced  up  a  steep  hill  in 
double  column,  officers  at  the  head,  with  fixed  baj-onets, 
without  firing  a  shot.  It  was  a  grandson  of  the  latter, 
,Gol.  Rupert  Hammersmith,  that  led  the  famous  charge  at 
Buena  Vista,  seventy  j-ears  later,  which  routed  the  Mexi- 
can Lancers,  and  turned  the  tide  of  battle  in  our  favor.  I 


26  HAMMERSMITH : 

have  it  from  fellow-officers  of  his  on  the  battle-field,  that 
when  he  lifted  his  hat,  and  shouted,  "  Charge,  gentlemen, 
charge !  "  as  though  he  were  leading  the  company  of  De 
Champernoun  into  France,  the  troops  seemed  inspired  by 
his  noble  command,  and  swept  down  the  hill,  and  over  the 
Mexicans  as  though  they  were  field-mice. 

When  the  President  of  the  United  States,  Momoe, 
visited  the  university  in  1817;  when  Lafayette,  in  his 
triumphal  tour  of  1824,  came  to  receive  the  plaudits  and 
the  honors  of  college  government  and  students  alike ;  and 
later,  in  1833,  when  President  Jackson  was  welcomed  to 
Cambridge,  —  JTOU  may  be  sure,  that,  among  the  officers 
and  privates  of  the  smart  Harvard  Washington  Corps 
which  did  escort-duty  on  those  occasions,  the  distinguished 
visitors'  eyes  were  attracted  by  the  soldierly  figures  of  the 
Hammersmith  famity,  and  that  at  least  the  hard-featured 
hero  of  New  Orleans  made  favorable  comment  on  their 
martial  bearing.  It  was  a  Hammersmith,  indeed,  who 
was  called  up  and  complimented  by  President  Monroe, 
together  with  the  commander  of  the  corps,  who  was 
offered  a  position  at  West  Point  if  he  would  choose  to 
accept  it. 

The  records  of  the  family  do  not  show  it,  but  I  have  it 
from  a  trustworthy  source  (the  son  of  the  college  janitor 
of  the  day) ,  that  the  student-marshal  who  stepped  from 
the  ranks  of  the  procession  to  offer  an  umbrella  to  the 
venerable  Lafayette,  as  a  protection  against  the  August 
sun,  was  a  Hammersmith, — father  or  uncle  of  that  Rupert 
who  distinguished  himself  at  Buena  Vista.  We  all  know 
that  the  genial  old  marquis  turned  to  him,  and  said, 
"  Thank  you,  young  gentleman  ;  but  I  love  the  sun  in  all 
its  warmth  and  all  its  brightness." 

If  we  were  to  give  a  list,  however,  of  all  the  exploits 
of  the  undergraduate  Hammersmith  family,  all  the  college 
societies  to  which  they  belonged,  and  sports  which  thcj 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  27 

patronized,  as  well  as  the  literary  honors  which  from  time 
to  time  were  Lung  upon  the  family -tree,  we  should  be  not 
only  overstepping  our  limits,  but  taking  the  wind  out  of 
the  sails  of  our  hero,  whose  career  is  to  follow.  Suffice  it, 
rhat  in  all  the  forrays  and  larks  of  student-h'fe,  the  hazings, 
the  rebellions,  the  sign-filchings,  the  paintings  of  obnox- 
ious tutors'  doors,  the  stealing  of  college  Bibles  from  the 
chapel,  attacks  on  recognized  institutions  like  the  clock 
and  the  bell,  burning  of  effigies,  and  blowing  up  of  build- 
ings, (innocent  sports  these !)  the  daring  Hammersmiths 
could  always  be  counted  on  to  lend  a  hand,  and  generally, 
if  it  must  be  confessed,  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the  affair. 
In  all  the  societies, — be  they  sporting,  convivial,  dra- 
matic, nautical,  musical,  military,  purely  literary,  or 
purely  religious,  Marti-Mercurian,  Med.  Fac.,  Lazy  Club, 
Nav}r,  Washington  Corps,  Hermetick,  'AxQffioloyevfMunt, 
Patriotic  Association,  JetJ&wpafOi,  Pierian  Sodality,  Glee 
Club,  Pudding,  PorceUian,  Institute  of  1770,  and  the 
swarm  of  Greek-letter  societies  of  later  days, — members 
of  the  family  were  generally  found  among  the  most  active 
and  ardent  of  their  supporters ;  and  in  the  prizes,  exhi- 
bitions, and  commencements,  as  well  as  in  that  no  less 
important  catalogue  of  the  honors  bestowed  by  the  votes 
of  the  class,  the  spoils  that  fell  to  the  Hammersmiths 
were  by  no  means  inconsiderable. 

The  dire  truth  must  be  stated,  however,  that  of  late 
their  literary  achievements  were  yearly  growing  less  and 
less.  Whether  the  superabundant  vitality  which  had 
worked  itself  off  in  more  vigorous  ways  in  early  colonial 
days  was  restive  under  modern  restraints,  or  that  the  fam- 
ily was  returning  to  a  wild  state,  —  like  those  neglected 
apple-trees  which  one  sometimes  sees  in  pastures  and 
by-lanes,  —  certain  it  is  that  latterly  the  honor-list  of  the 
university  held  fewer  and  fewer  of  the  time-hallowed 
names,  and  that  oftener  and  oftener  a  Hammersmith  was 


28  HAMMERSMITH : 

called  before  the  dread  faculty,  charged  with  some  con- 
tinued neglect  of  duty,  or  with  complicity  in  some  wild 
midnight  escapade. 

It  was  especially  in  the  second  }'ear  that  this  correction 
was  apt  to  be  applied ;  and  I  regret  to  say  that  many  a 
Hammersmith  had  in  that  year  been  either  temporarily 
suspended  from  the  university  for  a  certain  period,  or 
remanded  utterly  to  the  limbo  of  ordinarj"  citizen-life.  So 
it  came  about  that  sophomore  3~ear  was  at  length  regarded 
as  a  sort  of  Rubicon  for  the  family.  Paternal  Hammer- 
smiths gave  their  sons  sage  advice  on  entering  its  danger- 
ous terms,  while  related  Hammersmiths  inquired  anxiously 
if  Tom  or  Rupert  or  Nat  had  been  suspended  yet. 

It  was  looked  upon  rather  as  the  fulfilment  of  prophecy 
than  as  a  novelt}~,  therefore,  that,  some  tune  before  the 
middle  of  the  present  century,  the  rumor  rushed  through 
the  far  and  near  branches  of  the  stock,  that  Mr.  Ga}-ton 
Hammersmith,  sophomore,  —  the  youngest  son  of  Mr. 
Nathaniel  Hammersmith  of  Quinc}',  —  the  favorite  of  his 
class,  and  first  man  in  their  sports,  but,  alas  !  not  in  their 
class-rooms,  had  been  expelled  from  the  university.  "  For 
continued  neglect  of  the  college  curriculum,  and  late  dis- 
orderly conduct  too  marked  to  be  passed  over  in  silence," 
the  note  of  the  president  put  it ;  the  said  disorderly  con- 
duct having  been  the  heading  of  a  crowd  which  had  col- 
lected all  the  barber-poles  and  available  signs  of  the  town, 
and  burned  them  en  masse  in  front  of  the  chapel,  where, 
the  following  morning,  the  rushing  throng  of  worshippers 
had  to  pass  through  their  charred  remains.  This  rumor 
was  confirmed  a  few  daj-s  later  by  the  appearance  at  home 
of  the  j'oung  man  in  question,  who,  for  obvious  reasons, 
by  the  way,  had  been  passing  b}*  the  significant  name  of 
Gay  Hammersmith,  at  Cambridge,  for  many  months  past. 
He  invaded  placid  Quincy  with  the  airs  of  a  conqueror 
in  most  gorgeous  raiment,  and  carried  himself  as  bravely 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  29 

as  a  prince,  receiving  as  so  much  homage  to  his  powers 
the  silent  stares  of  his  neighbors  and  townsmen,  and  the 
timid  wonder  of  Ms  fair  3'oung  friends,  who  thought  him 
"  awfully  wicked,"  but  still  "  so  fascinating !  " 

The  humiliation  and  disgrace  which  Mr.  Gayton  carried 
off  so  bravely,  and  which  nobody  seemed  to  hold  impor- 
tant, seeing  the  3'oung  gentleman's  happy  manner  and  his 
father's  ready  forgiveness  (he  had  been  a  young  Hammer- 
smith once  himself) ,  came  with  especial  heaviness  to  his 
elder  brother  Richard,  a  senior  at  the  time  of  the  expul- 
sion, and  rightly  looked  upon  as  the  most  promising  of  the 
family  for  several  generations.  As  the  same  stock  will 
produce,  now  a  mighty  scholar  and  now  a  mighty  brawler, 
now  a  saint  and  now  one  in  whom  Lavater's  "  devil- 
moments"  preponderate,  there  were  at  the  same  tune  in 
college  these  two  brothers  of  essentially  different  tem- 
peraments and  tastes,  —  Richard,  the  scholarly,  the  re- 
served, the  sensitive  even  to  shrinking ;  and  Gayton,  the 
hilarious,  the  athletic,  the  hail-fellow  of  his  class.  It  was 
a  bitter  experience  for  Richard,  this  seeing  his  brother  go 
on  from  bad  to  worse  in  spite  of  his  repeated  protests, 
and  finally  end  his  university  career  so  ingloriously :  it 
seemed  a  blow  to  his  own  amour  propre,  or  at  least  to  his 
family  pride  ;  and  he  said  afterwards  that  he  felt  it  had 
affected  his  whole  after-life,  —  so  sensitive  he  was  ! 

Did  space  allow,  we  might  follow  these  brothers  in  their 
subsequent  variant  fortunes,  and  observe  how  differently 
the  Fates  parcelled  out  their  lots.  We  might  follow  the 
youuger  as  he  sailed  away  to  China,  and  chronicle  his 
golden  progress  in  that  land  of  the  almond-eyed, — a 
golden  progress  which  soon  procured  him  the  name  of 
"The  Duke"  among  his  friends,  from  a  certain  lordly 
and  imperious  manner  natural  to  him.  We  might  follow 
the  f  Ider  till  we  found  him  living  hi  a  mild,  ecclesiastical 
'waj7,  as  the  Rev.  Richard  Hammersmith,  in  his  little  par- 


80  HAMMEKSMITH : 

sonage  "Ivy  Hill,"  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  with 
his  wife,  his  sons  Tom  and  Dick,  and  his  sweet  3'oung 
daughter  Mabel. 

If  we  could  linger  on  this  portion  of  our  story,  we  might; 
too,  dwell  for  a  brief  space  upon  that  sad,  sad  day  when 
Mr.  Ga,yion  arrived  from  China  just  in  time  to  have  his 
brother  die  in  his  arms,  —  the  same  arms  which  had 
brought  him  such  fame  in  his  athletic  college-days,  and 
which  now  caught  up  the  tall,  wasted  preacher  as  if  he 
had  been  a  babe,  and  bore  him  about  the  house  from  one 
sunny  spot  to  another,  until  his  eyes  were  closed  forever, 
and  his  soul  was  bound  on  its  last  brightening  journey. 
"We  might  follow  the  jovial,  sunny-hearted  "Duke,"  as 
he  strove  to  comfort  the  forlorn  widow,  and  bring  order 
out  of  the  business  chaos  in  which  her  affairs  had  been 
left  by  her  husband.  We  might  follow  him  as  he  argued 
and  protested,  and  argued  again,  in  favor  of  Mr.  Tom's 
being  forthwith  prepared  for  the  university. 

"  It  will  break  my  heart  to  have  him  go,"  she  had  said, 
shaking  her  head.  But  the  dear  old  Gaj'ton  had  painted 
Mr.  Tom  as  a  hero,  returning  every  half-3rear  to  gladden 
her  eyes  and  soul  with  his  load  of  honors  ;  and  she  smiled 
feebly. 

"I  shall,  at  any  rate,  go  and  live  in  Cambridge,  and 
look  after  him,"  she  continued,  yielding  a  point.  But 
he  laughed  at  the  idea  of  coddling  a  Hammersmith. 

"  Might  as  well  bring  up  a  young  eagle  on  a  bottle,  you 
dear,  little  anxious  mamma !  No,  no,  God  bless  me ! 
let  him  flop  about  for  himself  a  while.  What  if  he  does 
liave  a  fall  or  two?  I've  watched  him:  he's  the  right 
stuff,  madam ;  and,  on  the  word  of  a  Hammersmith,  he'll 
go  through  it  all,  and  come  out  a  man  to  make  your  poor 
broken  heart  dance,  ma'am." 

And  then,  if  we  were  telling  the  story  of  young  Hani' 
mersmith's  "coaching"  da3Ts,  we  might  follow  him  foi 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  31 

the  two  and  a,  half  years  that  he  was  under  the  h^rds  of 
Mr.  Andrew  Pipon  (II.  U.  185-),  a  learned  young  tutor 
with  the  self-importance  of  recent  graduation  still  dewy 
upon  him ;  showing  how  he  advanced  in  amazingly  quick 
fashion  through  his  classics  and  mathematics  and  history  ; 
how  he  rode  and  swam,  and  pulled  an  oar  better  and  better 
as  his  strength  developed,  —  a  fact  which  pleased  his 
uncle's  stout  heart  even  more  than  his  commendable  prog- 
ress in  his  studies,  as  the  cheery  "  Duke  "  rushed  on  from 
his  Boston  club  now  and  then,  and  beamed  upon  the  still 
life  at  "Ivy  Hill;"  how  his  young  soul  was  fired  with 
the  marvellous,  and,  I  must  own,  rather  apocryphal  stories 
poured  into  his  ear  by  his  neighbor  Bob  Ruddiman,  a 
student  at  Yale,  in  recounting  the  wonderful  deeds  of  him- 
self and  his  class  ;  how  he  thrashed  to  the  bellowing  point 
the  hulking  son  of  Mangul  Wurzel,  the  corner  grocer,  who 
had  called  him  a  "  mammy-dear,"  or  some  such  obnoxious 
name,  returning  with  bloody  face  and  torn  jacket  to  burst 
in  upon  the  sewing-society  in  full  cackle  in  his  mother's 
drawing-room ;  and  how  his  mother  alternated  between 
solicitude  and  a  flickering  ambition  for  her  boy,  whose 
rapid  progress  she  almost  begrudged,  as  it  brought  him 
nearer  and  nearer  the  da}'  of  separation,  — the  day  when 
he  would  leave  her  mild  ways,  and  take  his  place  among 
those  noisy,  important,  conceited,  "horrid"  college-men. 
But  that  da^*  at  last  came.  Mr.  Andrew  Pipon,  having 
exhausted  his  power  of  "  tutoral  glazing,"  and  declaring 
his  pupil  amply  prepared  to  pass  the  severest  examination, 
if  only  he  would  have  confidence,  was  dismissed  by  Mr. 
Gayton  Hammersmith,  who  had  arrived  a  few  da}-s  before. 
The  worthy  tutor,  not  quite  so  all-knowing  as  on  his  arri- 
val, but  with  fuller  purse  and  figure,  left  for  his  mother  and 
sisters  in  Massachusetts  (whom  he  was  largely  support- 
ing from  his  earnings) ,  with  the  best  of  feelings  between 
•himself  and  Tom. 


32  HAMMERSMITH : 

•'Come  and  see  me  in  Cambridge,  won't  you,  old  fel- 
low?" Tom  had  said,  pressing  his  hand  warmly  at  part- 
ing. Then,  suddenly  recollecting  himself,  he  had  added, 
"that  is,  if  I  pass  the  confounded  old  examinations,  which 
I  very  much  doubt." 

And  then,  with  a  mixed  feeling  of  confidence  and  dis- 
may, and  with  a  large  part  of  his  technical  acquirements, 
such  as  the  irregular  Greek  verbs  and  mathematical  for- 
mulae, confided  in  a  small  hand  to  numerous  little  cards 
(which  he  carried  about  with  him,  and  studied  at  odd 
intervals) ,  young  Tom  soon  after  left  for  Boston,  with  his 
uncle,  in  a  rain  of  mingled  tears  and  blessings  from  his 
mother. 

He  had  turned  on  leaving.  "With  his  arm  around  her, 
he  said,  — 

"  Don't  carry  on  so,  my  little  mother !  I'm  not  in  yet : 
perhaps  I  may  never  be.  But,  whatever  happens,  I  shall 
always  love  you  just  the  same.  And  you  can  depend  that 
I  will  never  do  any  thing  unworthy  of  you  or  father: 
can't  you?  " 

"That  I  can,  my  dear  boy,"  she  answered,  smiling 
tearfully ;  and,  with  a  kiss  and  a  last  wave  of  the  hand,  he 
was  gone,  —  the  boy  going  forth  full  of  hope  to  meet  the 
shadowy  future  ;  the  mother  remaining  to  live,  and  brood 
over  the  more  real  past,  and  to  pray  for  her  dear  boy  ii 
the  new  life  to  which  he  was  rushing  so  gleefully. 


HTS  HARVARD  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

THE   INQUISITION   OF   THE   BIG- WIGS. 

"Academic  meads  trembling  with  the  earthquake   of  Athenian  peripatetic* 

pacing  up  and  down."  —  RICHARD  OF  BTJBY. 
"II  piu  bel  fior  ne  coglie."  —  DEI^A  CBUSCAN  MOTTO. 

IF  the  merry  scene  at  Parker's  had  seemed  to  young 
Tom  a  very  startling  novelty,  before  which   all  his 
previous  life  sank  into  the  commonplace,  his  first  sight 
of  the  noble  halls  and  elm-shadowed  vistas  of  the  univer- 
sity was  something  never  to  be  quite  forgotten. 

Mr.  Tom  had  paid  but  little  attention  to  the  uninviting 
surroundings  through  which  they  had  been  passing  —  he 
and  the  "Duke" — in  a  hack,  one  morning  not  long 
after  the  going-up  of  the  curtain  at  Parker's ;  the  uncle, 
indeed,  beginning  to  think  that  the  youngster  was  taking 
it  all  "  deusedly  as  a  matter  of  course,  begad !  "  Tom's 
heart  began  to  beat  quickly,  however,  and  he  leaned  eagerly 
out  of  the  carriage-window  when  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
solid  halls  and  picturesque  grounds  of  the  old  university, 
—  the  Gothic  Librar}r ;  the  massive,  granite  Boylston  Hall, 
cutting  off  a  view  of  the  quadrangle  ;  the  vistas  of  arch- 
ing elms  and  distant  halls,  whose  names  even  Tom  did 
not  3*et  know ;  and  scunying  students  and  slow-pacing 
professors  scattered  here  and  there.  The  "  Duke,"  lying 
comfortably  in  one  corner  of  the  hack,  was  amused  at  the 
>oung  fellow's  sudden  interest,  and  smiled  to  think  that 
tie  had  ever  felt  the  same  quickening  of  blood  in  himself, 


84  HAMMERSMITH: 

not  many  decades  ago,  at  sight  of  this  same  brick  and 
mortar  and  stone. 

If  he  had  scoured  both  hemispheres  since  then ;  had 
made  his  bow  in  palaces,  and  been  pilloried  at  great  din 
ners,  with  a  dowager  countess  on  either  hand ;  had  hob- 
nobbed with  the  great  and  the  blase  from  China  to  Peru, 
and  had  begun  to  feel  that  every  thing  was  a  bit  stale,  — 
he  was  not  displeased  to  watch  the  zest  of  ardent  young 
fellows  like  Tom,  rushing  headlong  to  the  great  show  of 
life.  What  confiding  young  fools  the}*  are  ! 

A  half-hour  later  they  stood  in  the  stud}*  of  Professor 
Rayland  Darb}T,  on  a  retired  Cambridge  street,  presenting 
a  letter  of  introduction  from  the  late  tutor,  Mr.  Andrew 
Pipon,  which,  by  the  way,  as  a  specimen  of  pedantic  phra- 
seolog}-,  might  well  bear  transcript  into  these  pages. 

They  were  a  striking  couple,  —  the  slim,  broad-shoul- 
dered nephew,  with  a  straight-in-the-ej-e  look  which  caught 
you  at  once,  and,  for  one  so  young,  a  large  share  of  that 
shadowy  somewhat  called  a  presence,  which  was  sure  to 
announce  itself  the  moment  that  he  entered  a  room  with 
others ;  the  uncle,  larger  of  girth  than  when  he  climbed 
the  barber-poles  some  thirty  years  ago,  broad-chested  like 
Tom,  and  with  the  rather  distinguishing  marks  of  the  scar, 
the  close  gra}T  mustache  and  slightly-waving  grayish  hair, 
before  mentioned. 

"Ah!  Mr.  Hammersmith  and  Mr.  Hammersmith.  I 
am  very  happy  to  meet  you.  Ma}^  I  not  ask?  —  yes,  it 
must  be !  Mr.  Hammersmith,  if  I  am  not  greatly  mis- 
taken, you  left  Cambridge  just  before  I  entered.  Your 
fame  lingeral  after  3-011,  sir,"  said  the  professor  ;  at  which 
the  two  elders  smiled  a  broad  smile,  to  Tom's  wonder. 

"  Yes :  the  air  of  Cambridge  did  not  agree  with  me.  — • 
It  has  grown  much  more  healthy  since  then,  Tom,"  said 
the  "Duke,"  turning  to  his  nephew;  and  the  "Duke" 
and  the  professor  went  off  into  a  fit  of  explosive  laughter. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  35 

which  Tom  made  his  uncle  explain  the  moment  they  were 
outside  the  door,  —  the  young  innocent ! 

"  And  so  j-ou  are  coming  up  to  live  among  us,  Mr. 
Hammersmith?  "  said  the  professor,  addressing  Tom. 

"  I  can  hardly  say  that  as  yet,  sir:  I  wish  I  might! 
But  I  am  going  to  try  pretty  hard,"  answered  Tom. 

"Try,  man!"  interposed  the  "Duke."  "It's  the 
same  thing,  or  you're  no  Hammersmith,  sir !  Try !  God 
bless  me ! ' ' 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  welcome  you,  very  glad  indeed," 
continued  the  professor.  ' '  You  will  be  pleased  to  learn 
that  the  class  this  year  promises  to  be  exceedingly  large. 
The  schools  are  sending  up  very  large  numbers,  and,  as 
far  as  I  can  hear,  of  very  good  material.  But  it  is  draw- 
ing near  to  nine  o'clock.  Shall  I  accompany  you  to  the 
university,  and  introduce  you  to  some  of  the  examiners  ? 
My  duties  do  not  carry  me  there  to-day ;  but  I  shall  be 
most  happy  to  do  what  I  can  to  make  the  plunge  easier 
to  you.  Have  you  been  in  Cambridge  before?  No? 
Well,  I  hope,  Mr.  Hammersmith,  that  you  and  your 
nephew  will  make  my  house  your  headquarters  while  here, 
and  do  me  the  honor  of  dining  with  me  to-day." 

And  the  "Duke  "  accepted  with  a  courtly  bow,  and  a 
"  Thanks,  very  much  ; "  while  Tom,  as  they  walked  to  the 
college,  found  himself  talking  with  unusual  open-hearted- 
ness  to  the  professor,  to  whom  he  had  warmed  at  once,  as 
he  saw  the  genuine  interest  with  which  he  had  welcomed 
them,  and  the  sympathy  with  which  he  entered  into  his 
own  rather  anxious  feelings.  The  appointments  of  his 
study,  too,  —  a  collection  of  fragrant  pipes  on  the  mantel, 
a  gun  in  a  corner,  a  pair  of  horns  over  the  door,  a  mysteri- 
ous black  sign  with  "  R.  Darby  "  in  white  letters  on  the 
lintel  of  the  door,  and  many  other  cheering,  unprofessional 
marks  which  caught  his  eye,  —  told  him  that  here  was  a 
'  man  not  of  the  stamp  of  Mr.  Andrew  Pipon  and  the  typi- 


B6  HAMMERSMITH : 

cal  professor,  but  one  in  whom  he  could  look  for  hearty 
fellow-feeling  and  an  appreciation  of  the  young-man 
world. 

Would  you  follow  Mr.  Tom  through  the  details  of  Lis 
two-days'  martyrdom?  If  the  familiars  of  the  rack  and 
thumb-screw  had  your  brother  in  charge,  gentle  reader ; 
or  your  son,  my  dear  madam,  were  doomed  to  sit  for  a 
period  with  his  precious  feet  in  the  stocks  (which  may 
the  Fates  forefend  !)  — would  you  be  present  to  watch  his 
torture?  Well,  perhaps  3~ou  would,  with  that  tender 
compassion  which  is  one  of  your  sweetest  possessions,  or 
perhaps  from  a  spirit  of  inquisition  in  another  sense,  for 
which  man-moralists  give  you  credit.  But  I  like  to  think 
that  you  would  prefer  to  keep  out  of  the  way  while  the 
screws  were  turning,  and  the  boards  were  pressing,  and 
be  on  hand  to  receive  the  poor  fellow  after  it  was  all  over, 
and  cover  him  with  the  mantle  of  your  sympathy  and  love. 

Who  that  has  been  through  it  does  not  remember,  as 
though  of  yesterday,  the  restless  commingling  of  candi- 
dates, like  a  band  of  wild  horses  as  yet  without  a  leader? 
The  clannish  body  from  the  great  schools,  —  Exeter, 
Andover,  Dixwell's,  Boston  and  Roxbury  Latin,  —  each 
with  petty  chiefs  of  its  own,  and  each  destined  to  strive, 
in  a  measure,  for  the  mastery  of  the  class?  the  irregulars 
from  distant  cities,  and  private  tutors,  and  from  country 
hamlets,  where  the  departure  for  Cambridge  of  the  solitary 
candidate  —  hero  of  the  village  Debating  Society  —  was 
the  event  of  the  summer,  hamlet-shaking?  and  Harvard 
Hall,  with  its  portraits  of  placid  benefactors  of  the  uni- 
versity smiling  down  upon  many  a  lad  floundering  in  an 
ebbing  flood  of  classics,  and  consuming  his  pencil  in 
despair  ;  its  long  rows  of  tables  and  benches  of  symbolic 
greenness ;  an  awful  knot  of  professors  and  big-wigg 
gathered  in  the  middle,  opposite  the  door;  with  soft- 
footed  tutors  and  proctors,  quick  of  eye,  and  suspicious 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  37 

from  recent  personal  knowledge,  patrolling  the  lines,  — 
suave  of  speech,  but,  oh!  so  negative  in  answer?  the 
various  smaller  rooms  in  Harvard  and  University  repeat- 
ing this  scene  on  the  second  day,  the  day  of  the  viva  voce 
examinations?  and,  giving  the  throb  to  all  this  machin- 
ery, the  fervent  j-outh,  working  as  for  life  at  the  benches, 
rushing  from  one  examination  to  another,  or  powwowing, 
Indian  fashion,  on  the  small  grass-plats  by  University 
steps  (a  favorite  raltying-point  in  Hammersmith's  day), 
discussing  their  papers,  their  success,  their  professors, 
whom  they  already  begin  to  call  "  Old  Darby,"  or  "  Old 
Brimblecom,"  or  "Old  Bone,"  and  beginning  even  now 
to  crystallize,  like  all  new  bodies  of  men,  around  certain 
leaders  and  oracles  ?  —  ah  !  how  it  all  comes  up  before  me 
again  these  thousands  of  miles  awayj. 

The}'  were  in  the  midst  of  an  unusually  stiff  mathemat- 
ical paper,  on  the  first  day,  when  Professor  Darby  walked 
quietly  to  Tom,  whom  he  had  seen  squirming,  and  consult- 
ing his  hair  for  some  minutes,  and  asked,  — 

"  Well,  sir,  how  are  you  getting  on?  " 

"  Making  a  pretty  bad  mess  of  it,  I'm  afraid.  I'd 
give  a  year's  growth  to  know  the  answer  to  No.  8  !  " 

"Yes?  Let  me  see."  And  glancing  at  the  paper  and 
Tom's  manuscript,  which  was  in  a  bold,  large  hand,  he 
added,  "  Well,  it  is  rather  a  tough  one  ;  but  you're  coming 
on  all  right;  don't  despair,"  and  walked  off  towards  a 
sturdy  3~oung  fellow  in  the  corner,  whom  Tom  had  noticed 
as  a  man  of  some  importance  among  his  fellows.  They 
whispered  together;  and  the  young  man  looked  towards 
Tom. 

After  this  paper  was  over,  and  as  the  young  men  were 
separating  for  dinner,  Professor  Darby  appeared  at  the 
outer  door,  and,  taking  Tom  by  the  arm,  approached  the 
young  fellow  with  whom  he  had  whispered,  sa3*ing, 
M  George,  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Hammersmith, 


38  HAMMERSMITH : 

• — Mr.  Tom  Hammersmith.  My  nephew,  George  Goldie, 
Mr.  Hammersmith.  He's  a  stranger,  George,  and  I  would 
like  you  to  introduce  him  among  }rour  friends."  And  the 
two  3"oung  fellows,  eying  each  other  as  though  they  were 
selecting  members  for  a  crew,  shook  hands  powerfully 
(after  the  manner  of  boating-men) ,  and  walked  into  each 
other's  acquaintance  and  tastes,  hopes  and  fears,  at  once, 
meanwhile  taking  their  way  to  the  professor's  to  dinner. 

And  the  "Duke"?  Well,  he  walked  about  the  old 
familiar  neighborhood  during  these  two  daj's  of  trial ;  he 
smoked  the  professor's  study  full  of  smoke  a  dozen  times 
or  more  ;  he  waited  anxiously  for  his  nephew  at  the  college- 
doors  now  and  then,  and  asked  Professor  Darby  again  and 
again,  "  Gad,  I  hope  the  young  fellow's  going  to  pass 
muster,  eh?  "  In  fact,  old  cosmopolitan  as  he  was,  and 
cool  philosopher,  he  was  most  uncommonly  interested  on 
Tom's  account,  and  betrayed  his  solicitude  to  an  extent 
for  which  he  severely  reprimanded  himself  when  looking 
in  the  glass  next  morning.  But  the  beaming  young  fellow 
came  up  with  such  a  smiling  face  after  every  encounter,  — 
as  the  Hammersmith  fashion  was,  after  success  and 
defeat  alike, — that  the  anxious  old  boy  was  confident  it 
would  all  come  out  right,  and  was  proud,  at  any  rate,  to 
have  such  a  handsome  and  resolute  young  candidate  in  his 
charge. 

I  suppose  that  the  man  waiting  to  be  hung,  or  the  soldier 
blindfolded  standing  to  be  shot,  or  Miss  Arabella  waiting 
to  be  taken  out  in  the  "  German,"  and  only  a  half-hour 
left,  or  the  law}*er  expecting  his  first  brief,  or  any  other 
anxious  person  in  any  expectant  mood  that  you  may 
>icture  to  yourself,  is  in  a  rather  unenviable  state  of  sus- 
pended animation,  or  of  animation  so  intense  as  almost 
to  seem  breathless.  But  I  doubt  if  the  position  of  any 
of  them  can  be  compared  with  that  of  the  young  candi- 
date who  waited  in  old  University  Chapel  in  Hammer- 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  89 

smith's  time  (it  is  bisected  in  two  directions  now,  I  hear, 
and  devoted  to  other  use) ,  and  waited  and  waited  till  his 
name  was  called  by  Fate,  and  he  left  his  friends  — as 
others  had  left  him,  one  by  one  —  to  meet  the  dread  pres- 
ence in  the  faculty  room,  — the  arsenal  of  so  much  direful 
enginery.  Why  the  names  of  the  freshman  candidates 
were  not  posted,  as  abroad,  or  the  papers  handed  about 
in  a  more  wholesale  way,  the  aspirant  of  earlier  da}'s 
wondered  in  vain,  but  concluded  with  imagining  that  the 
faculty  had  prescribed  the  solitan*  method  as  a  sort  of 
civilized  barbarism,  or  running  of  the  gauntlet,  for  the 
more  stoical  training  of  its  neophytes. 

"  Goldie  ! "  had  been  called,  "  Penhallow  !  "  and  "Free- 
mantle  !"  and  many  others  whom  Tom  did  not  know 
personally  had  been  called.  Shouts  were  heard  outside, 
below  stairs,  as  the  successful  men  rushed  into  the  arms 
of  their  classmates.  And  at  last,  when  Tom  had  nearly 
twiddled  a  button  off  the  cushion  on  which  he  sat,  "Ham- 
mersmith ! "  was  shouted  by  the  proctor  at  the  door  ;  and 
Tom  scuttled  into  the  faculty  room,  where  the  president, 
.ZEgidius  Dummer,1  stood  holding  a  paper  towards  him, 

1  It  cannot  be  too  emphatically  stated,  that  the  rather  nebulous  characters  ol 
Dummer  and  other  members  of  the  college  faculty  introduced  in  these  pages  are 
purely  imaginary.  So  true  is  this,  that  the  biographer  of  Hammersmith  did  not 
even  know  the  name  of  the  honored  occupant  of  the  presidential  chair  at  Cam- 
bridge when  ^Egidius  Dummer  was  first  selected  for  service  in  Hammersmith's 
day.  A  brother  alumnus  who  was  captured  on  his  travels  by  the  present  chroni- 
cler, and  made  to  wade  through  a  zest  of  manuscript,  whether  he  would  or  not, 
has  kindly  suggested  that  a  suspicion  of  caricature  might  be  raised  by  the  rather 
grotesque  name  chosen  for  the  head  of  the  university.  This  note  is  appended 
to  lay  that  suspicion.  The  brazen  bull  of  Phalaris,  excommunication  by  Alma 
Mater,  or  any  other  dire  punishment,  would  be  too  good  a  fate  for  one  who 
could  dare  to  attempt  caricature,  or  direct  portraiture  from  real  life,  in  a  place 
like  this.  The  present  writer,  at  any  rate,  who  retains  nothing  but  the  most 
respectful  regard  for  the  gentlemen  under  whom  his  youthful  days  were  passed 
in  Cambridge,  would  prefer  that  these  pages  should  remain  forever  unread, 
rather  than  that  he  should  be  accused  of  indulging  in  burlesque  of  their  high 
pffices,  than  which  none  can  be  higher.  Why  a  semi-huiuorous  iiame  was 
.chosen  for  the  head  of  the  university,  and  why  Professor  Darby,  Di.  3rimble. 
,  «%.om,  and  others  were  drawn  as  they  have  been  in  the  pages  which  follow,  will 
be  evident  to  any  one  who  considers  the  needs  of  a  book  like  this,  and  who  wil 


40  HAMMERSMITH : 

and  bowing  in  silence,  like  the  dummy  which  he  was  called 
in  nickname. 

Tom  took  the  paper,  and  waited  for  the  president  to 
say  something  on  his  case.  As  he  said  nothing,  except 
"Mr.  Hammersmith,"  and  continued  to  bow  as  before, 
and  as  another  man  was  coming  up  for  his  papers  at  the 
moment,  Tom  bowed  in  return,  and  went  out  by  a  side- 
door,  rushing  down  the  stone  steps,  with  papers  in  hand, 
but  having  not  the  least  idea  whether  he  had  been  admit- 
ted or  ignominioivsly  rejected. 

"How  is  it,  Hammersmith?"  called  Goldie  and  a 
dozen  others,  rushing  at  him. 

"Haven't  the  least  idea.  He  never  said  a  word,"  an- 
swered Tom  innocently ;  but  Goldie  tore  open  his  papers 
and  shouted,  — 

"Hurrah"!  Admitted  without  conditions!  Congratu- 
late 3'ou,  old  boy !  "  And  he  hugged  him  with  the  hug 
which  Tom  soon  learned  was  the  sign  of  exceeding  great 
joy  at  the  university,  — the  acme  of  congratulation.  But 
Tom  hardly  stopped  to  receive  the  hands  and  the  plaudits 
of  his  friends,  nor  to  regard  more  than  in  passing  several 
woful  figures  on  the  outside  of  the  crowd,  —  Brand  and 
Mountfort  and  Cleland  and  others,  who  had  come  up  con- 
fidently to  examination  year  after  year,  and  were  every 
time  rejected  bjr  discriminating  Alma  Mater. 

He  was  rushing  headlong,  to  Professor  Darby's,  to 
carry  the  good  news  to  his  uncle,  when  a  voice  at  the 
college-gate  arrested  him:  "Tom,  Tom,  where  are  you 
going?  "  and  he  turned  to  find  the  anxious  old  "  Duke  " 
in  a  hack  drawn  up  outside  the  college-gate,  where  he 
had  driven  to  get  tidings  as  soon  as  possible.  "All 
right,  all  right,  uncle  !  Admitted  without  conditions  !  — • 
H-i-g-h !  "  shouted  Tom,  and  jumping  into  the  hack,  and 

be  good  enough  tc  follow  the  course  of  Dummer  and  Uie  rest  as  it  coincides  with 
the  path  of  Hammersmith,  or  runs  counter  to  it,  as  the  case  may  be. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  41 

ordering  the  driver  to  make  haste  to  Professor  Darby's,  he 
handed  his  uncle  the  papers,  and  sank  on  the  seat,  looking 
back  at  the  buildings  as  they  whirled  away,  with  a  sort  of 
possessory  interest  vastly  different  from  the  feeling  with 
which  he  had  first  approached  them. 

How  the  old  gentleman  hugged  him,  and  congratulated 
him,  and  looked  fondly  at  the  young  fellow's  radiance ! 
And  how  the  professor's  family  repeated  the  operation, 
with  modifications !  for,  though  we  have  not  mentioned 
it,  there  were  members  of  the  professor's  household  from 
whom  to  receive  the  uncle's  congratulations  in  exact  kind 
would  hardly  have  been  proper.  What  a  dinner  they  had 
that  evening,  with  Goldie,  Penhallow,  Freemantle,  and 
Arthur  Tweedy,  the  last  of  whom  had  shown  many  polite 
attentions  to  Tom  during  his  examinations  ("  I'm  a  junior 
now,  traditional  friend  of  freshmen,  you  know,"  he  had 
remarked  to  the  "  Duke,"  who  was  thanking  him  for  his 
kindness) ,  it  does  not  concern  us  to  describe. 

We  may  pass  over,  also,  the  proud  young  fellow's  tri- 
umphal reception  at  "  Ivy  Hill ; "  his  fond  mother's  tears, 
and  Mabel's  and  young  Dick's  delight ;  and  how  he  strut- 
ted about  the  stables  and  dog-kennels ;  patronized  his 
mare  and  Trim,  the  lame  setter ;  looked  deprecatingly  at 
his  lapstreak  in  the  boathouse ;  and  altogether  bore  him- 
self as  many  a  happy,  high-spirited  lad  has  carried  himself 
before  and  since,  and  will  carry  himself,  let  us  hope,  to 
the  end  of  time,  so  long  as  health  and  spirits  and  youthful 
pride  shall  be  held  the  good  things  that  they  are. 

As  his  own  thoughts  and  yearnings  are  carrying  him 
now  continually  away  from  his  quiet  home  to  idealized 
Cambridge,  and  the  stirring  life  awaiting  him,  we  will  fol- 
low their  direction,  and,  passing  over  the  few  weeks  spent 
at  "  Ivy  Hill,"  — Tom's  restless  impatience,  the  notes  of 
preparation,  the  boxing  of  choice  books  and  pictures  and 
room-ornaments  culled  from  the  widow's  none  too  abun- 


42  HAMMERSMITH : 

dant  store,  and  the  final  blessings  at  parting,  —  meet  him 
returned  to  the  university,  and  preparing  to  find  his  niche 
in  the  little  world  of  four-years'  whirling  into  which  he  had 
bee  a  introduced. 


HIS   HARYA11D   DAYS.  48 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   SCRIMMAGE  AND   A   SUDDEN   ALLY. 

"  Unus  homo  nobis  currendo  restituit  rem." — ENNIUB. 
"  Contending  with  twith  and  nail." 

NINIANI  WINZET,  Booke  of  four  acoir  thre  queslitma. 

I  SAY,  Goldie,  are  you  going  into  the  football  match 
to-morrow?" 

"  Of  course  I  am !  So  are  you,  or  you're  not  the  fellow 
I  take  3*ou  for." 

The  first  speaker,  Hammersmith,  who  had  come  over 
from  his  quarters  in  Brattle  House,  was  seated  in  the 
luxurious  window-seat  of  Goldie's  Holworthy  room,  on 
the  first  Sunday  of  fall  term.  Goldie  himself  was  lying 
prone  on  his  sofa,  with  knees  crossed  high  in  air,  blowing 
rings  from  his  pipe  towards  the  ceiling,  and  trying  to  prod 
them  with  his  right  foot  as  they  rose.  His  chum,  Pinck- 
ney,  an  open-hearted,  somewhat  combustible  Southerner, 
was  out  visiting  his  new  classmates,  or  promenading  the 
town,  or,  perhaps,  already  running  his  neck  into  danger 
from  tj'rannical  sophomores  even  thus  early  in  his  univer- 
sity life,  — impetuous  fellow  as  he  was. 

It  was  a  peaceful  Sunday  afternoon.  A  breeze  was 
just  rustling  the  drooping  foliage  of  the  elms,  which  were 
casting  flickering  shadows  on  the  close-cut  turf,  where  the 
merry  al  fresco  dances  of  Class  Day  (not  yet  become 
obsolete  or  unpopular)  had  so  recently  been  held,  radiant 

with  j-ouths  and  maidens, 
» 

"  Dancing  'neath  the  checkered  shadfi." 


44  HAM.MEBSMITH : 

The  chimes  on  Christ  Church  were  ringing  for  afternoon 
service,  and  their  pensive  music  floated  harmoniously  into 
the  current  of  the  young  men's  thoughts  and  re  very. 
How  many 'a  lad,  fresh  from  a  far  home,  his  boyhood 
behind  him,  the  big  future  looming  before,  has  sat  thus, 
and  listened  to  the  chimes  which  were  sounding  this  after- 
noon for  the  new  freshmen  for  the  first  time  !  What  are 
their  thoughts  ?  Are  they  brave  ?  Are  they  despondent  ? 
Do  they  think  of  the  mothers  and  sisters  that  they  have 
left  behind?  Do  they  long  for  fame,  and  a  great  name 
among  men  ?  Or  are  they  content  with  the  present,  and 
resolved,  for  these  happy  four  years  at  least,  to  live  and  be 
merry,  and  let  the  future  take  care  of  itself,  as  the  past 
has  done? 

"  Why,  all  the  fellows  are  going  in,"  continued  Goldie. 
"Freemantle  says  it's  often  the  making  of  a  man's  uni- 
versity fame ;  and  he's  seen  a  good  many  games  since 
he's  been  at  Dixwell's." 

"Freemantle!  Can  he  kick?  He  looks  too  deh'cate, 
and  weak  on  his  pins,"  said  Tom. 

"  Kick !  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  guess  you  haven't  seen 
the  game,  eh?  or  heard  of  it?  See  that  picture?  "  blow- 
ing a  cloud  of  smoke  towards  a  colored  print  next  his 
bedroom-door, —  "The  Chicken"  and  "Yankee  Boy" 
in  attitude  of  defence.  Tom  nodded.  "Are  those  birds 
kicking?  Kicking  has  no  more  to  do  with  this  football 
game  than  with  the  sparring  of  those  bullet-headed  fellows 
yonder!  Do  you  box?"  and  Tom  was  about  to  answer, 
wondering  what  strange  rules  could  govern  the  football 
games  of  the  university,  when  Pinckney  entered  with  a 
number  of  freshmen.  They  were  introduced,  shook  hands 
warmly,  and  subsided  into  eas3r-chairs  and  window-seats. 

"Well,  George,  I've  seen  lots  of  the  fellows  this  after- 
noon," said  Pinckney,  —  "  they're  coming  over  in  crowds 
from  Boston  and  Brookline  and  Roxbury ;  luck}'  dogs  tc 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  45 

be  able  to  spend  Sunday  at  home  !  —  and  I  think  we  shall 
make  a  pretty  good  stand  to-morrow  evening." 

"  Are  they  all  going  in? "  asked  Goldie,  turning  on  his 
elbow  towards  the  new-comers. 

The  freshmen  present  made  impressive  vows  of  loyalty, 
such  as  "  You  bet  we  are  !  "  "  Well,  I  rather  think  so !  " 
nnd  so  on  ;  and  Pinckney  continued,  — 

"  Yes,  haven't  seen  a  fellow  that  was  chicken-hearted ; 
and  a  mighty  good-sized  lot  they  are  !  Oh,  yes !  there's 
one  chap —  What's  his  name?  —  He  rooms  in  j'our 
entry,  Brinton,  right  across  from  you." 

"A —  Breese,  3*ou  mean?  " 

"  Yes,  Breese.  Rural  chap,  I  should  say ;  strong  smell 
of  turnips  in  the  room.  A  tall,  raw-boned  fellow,  with  a 
fist  like  a  bargeman's.  Jove,  I  thought  he'd  break  every 
bone  in  my  fingers  when  I  shook  his  ugly  flipper  just 
now  !  "  And  Pinckney  looked  at  his  own  white  tapering 
hands  sjinpathetically ,  and,  passing  them  through  his  black 
forelock,  added,  "  Gue.ss  he's  one  of  your  strait-laced 
coves,  —  Sunday  school,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  He  said 
he  had  heard  that  it  wasn't  a  square  game,  but  a  fight ; 
and  he  should  decline  to  join  —  on  principle.  Hang  his 
principles !  What  we  want  is  muscle.  He'd  make  a 
rattler  for  a  rush ! ' ' 

"Can't  we  secure  him?  "  asked  Goldie,  with  the  air  of 
a  general  about  to  lose  a  valuable  adjutant. 

"  'Fraid  not ;  firm  as  a  rock,  I  imagine,  when  he's  made 
up  his  mind.  They  say  he  walked  all  the  way  from  Ohio 
here.  Pity  to  waste  such  leg-muscle,  eh?" 

"  I  know  a  fellow  that  knows  him,"  interposed  a  small 
man,  perhaps  not  sorry  that  such  a  muscleman  should 
be  on  hand  as  a  possible  buckler  for  himself  in  the  con- 
test. "  I'll  ask  him  to  speak  to  him." 

"Of  course  you're  going  in,"  said  Pmcknoy,  turning 
'co  Hammersmith. 


46  HAMMERSMITH: 

"When  you're  in   Rome,  and  so   forth,"  said  Tom 
"  I've  never  seen  the  game,  and  I  don't  box  ;  but  I  think 
I  can  do  some  pretty  tall  knocking  about."     And  the 
men  present  looked  admiring^,  and  at  the   same  tune 
pityingly,  at  him. 

Provident  fellows  !  Every  one  of  them  had  been  postur- 
ing, and  hitting  from  the  shoulder,  and  learning  the  rudi- 
ments of  the  manly  art,  for  months  now,  from  various 
square- visagcd  gentry  in  different  places,  but  mostly  from 
"The  Chicken," — a  notorious  Boston  light-weight,  at 
present  a  great  favorite  with  university  men.  In  fact, 
Henchman  and  some  of  the  fast  set  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  inviting  him  to  Cambridge  to  little  suppers  and  wines, 
at  which  his  cropped  head  and  flattened  nose  made  a 
startling  contrast  to  the  modish  young  students ;  and 
his  quick  sparring  and  nimble  "  fives,"  when  the  tables 
were  moved  and  the  gloves  put  on,  were  rather  too  much 
for  the  amateurs  who  stood  up  against  him. 

This  practice  had  come  to  a  sudden  end,  however,  after 
a  peculiarly  uproarious  supper  at  Porter's,  —  a  neighbor- 
ing tavern, —  whence,  after  a  night  of  carousal  and  con- 
siderable fist-practice,  the  company,  none  too  steady  in 
the  night-air,  descended  upon  Cambridge,  pounded  suc- 
cessive remonstrant  watchmen  in  turn,  and  at  last,  after 
a  desperate  struggle  with  the  united  police-force  ^  left 
"  The  Chicken,"  weary  with  much  fighting,  but  still  game, 
safely  jugged,  with  several  of  their  number,  in  the  town 
jail.  Three  of  them  were  suspended  next  day ;  and  "  The 
Chicken  "  was  a  hero  in  college-circles  from  that  da}-  on. 
Though  shy  of  Cambridge  suppers,  proctors,  and  police, 
he  remained  the  pet  of  the  fast  and  the  muscular  sets, 
and  received  full  pay  from  his  pupils  for  the  sudden 
stars  that  he  showed  them  at  his  dingy  little  office  adjoin- 
ing Milo's  gymnasium  in  Boston,  —  an  office  stale  with 
bad  tobacco,  and  hung  with  flaring  pictures  of  the  P.  RM 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  47 

—  grandiose  bullies  with  bulging  biceps,  standing  ever 
ready  to  strike,  but  never  striking. 

As  all  proscribed  men,  like  forbidden  fruit,  have  a  pecu- 
liar piquancy,  "The  Chicken"  found  himself  surfeited 
with  popularity;  and  not  only  undergraduates,  but  men 
from  the  schools,  and  young  lads  not  coming  up  for  years, 
buttoned  on  his  gloves,  and  stood  up  in  his  little  office  to 
be  pounded,  and  have  their  eyes  opened  and  shut  to  the 
beauties  of  the  manly  art. 

So  Tom  sat  now  and  listened  to  the  talk  of  "  The  Chick- 
en's "  pupils,  their  descriptions  of  other  games,  their  sev- 
eral plans  and  devices  for  this  one  in  particular ;  and, 
before  he  left,  he  had  received  a  fair  though  quite  new 
idea  of  the  nature  of  this  first  inter-class  contest. 

Freemantle  came  in  from  his  room  at  Morgan's, — a 
fast  man  of  the  better  sort,  if  such  an  expression  may  be 
used, — rich,  handsome,  thin,  but  wiry  and  muscular,  a 
capital  boxer,  runner,  and  fencer,  but  hardly  up  to  the 
more  sturdy  sports.  He  was  received  with  the  homage 
wlu'ch  is  general!}7  paid  such  men  by  young  hero-worship- 
pers ;  and  sitting  down,  half  on  the  sofa,  hah0  on  Goldie's 
feet,  he  entered  at  once  into  their  conversation. 

He  had  not  said  five  words  before  Tom  recognized  his 
mistake  in  thinking  him  ignorant  or  incapable  of  the 
game  ;  and  the  skilful  way  in  which  he  turned  their  ram- 
bling talk  into  a  business-like  discussion  of  waj-s  and 
means  of  organizing  their  men,  and  working  together  for 
victory,  showed  the  younger  fellows  that  here  was  a  man 
to  whom  they  might  look  as  a  leader,  and  one  likely  to 
deserve  well  of  his  party;. 

More  men,  freshly  arriving,  dropped  in.  The  strength 
and  abilities  of  most  of  the  prominent  members  of  the 
elass  were  already  pretty  thoroughly  canvassed ;  and, 
when  the  bell  for  afternoon  chapel  rang,  the  make-up  of 
their  party  for  the  great  football  match  was  as  complete 


48  HAMMERSMITH : 

as  could  be  expected  from  the  raw  recruits  under  their 
command. 

Freemantle  and  Hammersmith  went  off  arm  in  arm  to 
chapel,  which  was  not  yet,  become  the  importunate  temple 
of  worship  that  four  j-ears'  compulsory  attendance  on 
prayers  and  services  contrive  to  render  it  in  the  minds  of 
most  undergraduates.  And  as  the  reverend  preacher  rose 
in  his  place,  and  began  to  read,  "  I  have  fought  a  good 
fight,  I  have  finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith,'' 
more  men  than  Hammersmith  and  Freemantle  smiled,  and 
looked  mischief  at  each  other,  and  wondered  if  that  grave 
face  and  devout  manner  could  shelter  a  double  entendre. 

There  was  a  new  choir  that  day,  and  several  dainty 
bonnets  in  the  pews,  to  which  Freemantle  had  called  atten- 
tion when  they  entered ;  so  that  between  all  these,  and 
the  crowding  memories  of  home,  which  the  place,  and  the 
hour,  and  the  parental  associations  with  the  preacher's 
office,  called  up,  I  doubt  if  Mr.  Tom  could  have  given  so 
fair  a  synopsis  of  the  sermon  as  he  had  been  used  to  giv- 
ing of  his  dear  father's  at  home,  just  before  the  lamps 
were  brought  in,  as  they  sat  together  in  the  dusk.  His 
mind  was  busy  with  all  the  teeming  thoughts  natural  to 
his  new  departure  in  life,  and  cspecialty  with  the  anticipa- 
tion of  the  great  struggle  which  he  had  just  heard  dis- 
cussed, and  which  was  so  soon  to  come  off. 

When  Miss  Darb}r,  and  her  cousins  the  Barlows,  from 
Jamaica  Plain,  drove  up  in  their  carriage  to  the  Delta,  the 
following  evening,  about  an  hour  before  sunset,  the}r 
found  that  ancient  playground  — scene  of  so  many  sports 
and  struggles  —  surrounded  on  every  hand  with  several 
rows  of  carriages  and  horsemen  and  pedestrians,  gath- 
ered to  witness  the  struggle  and  scrimmage  which  went 
under  the  name  of  the  football  matcu. 

Cambridge  and  the  neighboring  towns  and  country  were 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  49 

out  in  full  force  to  see  a  brother,  or  a  cousin,  or  a  son, 
rush  into  somebody's  else  brother,  or  cousin,  or  son,  or 
fall  over  me  ball  now  and  then,  or  stand  up  to  be  knocked 
down,  or  perform  other  brave  deeds,  for  the  honor  of  his 
class.  Small  boys,  grinning  with  foreknowledge  of  the 
sport,  were  perched  on  the  posts,  or  maintained  a  dubious 
equilibrium  on  the  upturned  angle  of  the  fence-rails. 
Tutors  and  proctors,  and  here  and  there  an  old  professor 
with  a  young  heart,  mingled  in  the  crowd,  and  prepared  to 
watch  the  questionable  sport,  —  a  sport  which  was  not 
forbidden  b}*  the  faculty,  to  be  sure,  but  regarded  rather 
as  the  inevitable  though  degenerate  relic  of  ancient  usage, 
and  a  not  undesirable  safetj'-valve  for  the  semi-hostile 
feelings  of  sophomores  and  freshmen,  better  worked  off 
in  these  earlier  and  less  occupied  days  of  the  term  than 
later. 

"Why,  Ellen,  are  we  late?  Oh,  dear!  we  shall  have 
no  view  at-  all.  What  a  crowd  there  is !  "  said  Miss  Bar- 
low, addressing  her  cousin  Miss  Darb}- ;  and  the  young 
ladies  stood  up  a  moment  in  the  open  carriage  to  have  a 
better  view. 

"Sit  down,  won't  you!"  said  the  peremptory  Ned. 
"  Game  hasn't  begun.  What  do  3*011  want  to  stand  up 
for  ?  Girls  are  alwa3-s  so  curious !  ' '  and  the  young  ladies 
subsided. 

At  this  juncture  the  dowager  Mrs.  Malachite,  whose 
old  fashioned  barouche  was  just  inside  the  Barlows',  next 
the  fence,  spoke  sharply  to  her  coachman  ;  and  the  ancient 
vehicle,  with  much  cramping,  and  backing,  and  disturb- 
ance of  neighbors,  lumbered  out,  and  rolled  towards  Bos- 
ton. The  patient  dowager  had  waited  an  hour  now  to  see 
her  darling  Sam  march  out  to  do  battle  with  the  freshmen, 
and  she  was  due  at  the  Minturns',  Beacon  Street,  at  eight 
o'clock,  for  a  quiet  rubber  of  whist,  —  the  Minturns  hav- 
ing returned 'early  from  Nahant,  on  account  of  the  raw 


50  HAMMERSMITH : 

weather  which  had  set  in  prematurely  on  the  seashore ; 
and,  "  if  there  was  an}7  thing  in  all  the  world  "  that  Mrs. 
Minturn  and  the  dear  girls  "  hated,"  it  was  "  those  awful 
east  winds,"  which  went  through  their  poor  pampered 
bodies  like  knife-blades. 

•jo  old  Mrs.  Malachite  bowled  off  to  her  whist  and  her 
dish  of  tea  with  the  dear  Minturns  (Mr.  Minturn  and  the 
late  Malachite  had  been  partners  in  the  East- India  trade  ; 
and  they  do  say,  that,  if  Malachite  had  not  been  so  ex- 
peditious in  marrying  Mrs.  Malachite  out  of  hand,  Mr. 
Minturn  —  but  that  is  mere  gossip,  and  does  not  concern 
us) ,  —  Mrs.  Malachite,  I  say,  was  trundled  away  to  her 
rubber  of  whist ;  and  the  Barlows'  carriage  slid  quietly  up 
into  the  vacant  place. 

They  were  so  near  now,  that  they  could  see  the  fresh- 
men lying  in  groups  under  the  trees  towards  the  apex  of 
the  Delta.  Several  of  their  leaders  were  moving  among 
them,  apparent!}7  giving  advice.  If  the  young  ladies  had 
been  still  nearer,  they  would  have  seen  several  small 
freshmen  sheepishly  extracting  cotton-wool  and  old  hand- 
kerchiefs, and  other  such  padding,  from  their  boot-legs, 
and  might  have  heard  them  chaffing  each  other  on  their 
ignorance  of  the  game  and  the  precise  point  of  attack. 
But  they  were  not  near  enough  for  that,  or  to  see  the 
blanched  lips  of  many  of  the  young  fellows,  for  the  first 
tune  in  their  lives  brought  into  such  an  arena,  and  feeling 
that  the  coming  struggle  was  big  with  Fate  for  them. 

They  could  only  pity  the  raw  young  fellows  in  a  gen- 
eral way,  and  look  about  them  at  the  faces  that  they 
knew,  in  carriages  and  elsewhere. 

"Why,  there's  Miss  Fayerweather !  I  thought  she 
was  in  Newport,"  said  Miss  Barlow.  "Who's  that  on 
horseback  talking  to  her?  " 

"  One  of  the  Abbotts,  I  think,"  said  her  sister  Madelon. 
"But,  Ellen,  as  sure  as  you  live,  isn't  that  your  father 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  51 

eaning  against  the  post?  In  a  line  with  that  horrid  red 
shawl  —  don't  3*011  see?  " 

"Red  shawl?  It  certainty  is.  I  thought  he  had  some 
Latin  papers  to  look  over.  But  what's  that  noise?" 
asked  Miss  Darb}r. 

"  There  they  come  !  "  shouted  young  Barlow,  forgetting 
his  awful  self  in  the  excitement.  "Aren't  they  a  jolly 
set  of  coves  ?  ' ' 

As  he  speaks,  a  long  procession  comes  in  view.  Can 
the}'  be  students,  these  tatterdemalions  in  old  coats  and 
older  hats,  in  winged  raggedness  both,  inarching  two  by 
two  past  Holworthy,  and  singing  at  the  top  of  their  voices 
some  popular  college-song,  —  "We  won't  go  home  till 
morning,"  I  think  it  was  !  They  file  out  of  the  quadran- 
gle, cross  the  street,  and,  entering  the  enclosure  b}'  an  old 
gate  long  since  vanished,  take  up  their  places  b}'  the 
two  spreading  trees  which  formerly  stood  guard  near 
the  broad  end  of  the  Delta. 

It  is  ah1  changed  now  :  the  noble  Memorial  Hall  has 
been  flung  down  into  the  middle  of  the  Delta ;  and  the 
noise  of  knives  and  forks  in  commons,  the  rounded 
periods  of  orators,  and  the  festive  music  of  commence- 
ments, have  chased  away  the  echoes  of  the  games  and 
contests  of  Hammersmith's  day.  AVhether  these  two 
trees,  the  rendezvous  in  so  many  different  sports  of  the 
early  tunes,  have  given  waj*  before  the  eastern  facade  of 
Memorial  Hall,  I  know  not,  in  my  exile  ;  but  they  spread 
a  welcome  shade  for  the  young  cricketers  and  athletes  of 
the  days  of  which  I  write.  And  under  them  now  our 
sophomores  have  collected,  depositing  their  coats  at  their 
bases,  and  looking  across  at  the  band  of  freshmen. 

The  latter  have  risen,  and  are  bunched  near  the  middle 
of  the  Delta. 

"  Do  3*011  know  many  of  the  men?"  said  Miss  Made- 
Ion,  addressing  Miss  Darby.  "  What  frights  those  sopha 


52  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  Only  my  cousin  George  Goldie,  a  classmate  of  his 
named  Hammersmith,  and  one  or  two  others." 

' '  Hammersmith  !  One  of  the  Hammersmiths  ?  Is  he 
nice?" 

•'  M  — m  —  I  hardly  —  There  he  is  now,  looking  this 
way  ;  "  and,  as  Mr.  Tom  raised  his  cap  to  her,  she  said, 
"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hammersmith?"  in  that  bated 
whisper  with  which  one  addresses  people  rods  away,  feel- 
ing inexpressibly  silly  for  it  afterwards. 

"Yes;  and  there's  George  going  over  towards  the 
sophomores ;  and  that  big  fellow  has  the  ball.  They're 
going  to  begin,"  she  added. 

Miles  advances  with  the  ball,  Goldie  meeting  him  half 
way. 

"  Heads,  or  tails?"  says  Miles,  holding  a  coin  in  his 
hand. 

"I'll  wait  till  you  flip  it  up.  Heads!  "  sa}-s  Goldie, 
as  the  coin  is  in  air. 

"  Heads  it  is,"  answers  Miles,  picking  up  the  piece,  and 
delivering  the  ball  to  Goldie,  who  returns  to  his  party, 
now  considerably  elated  at  their  winning  the  toss  and  the 
send-off. 

Goldie  calls  about  him  the  Pretorian  Band,  made  up 
of  the  largest  freshmen  and  the  boxers. 

"  -Now,  fellows,  keep  close  together.  Don't  strike  a 
man,  unless  necessary^  (keep  all  your  strength  for  rushing 
the  ball  through)  ;  but,  if  }-ou're  struck,  give  as  good  as 
you  receive. — And  you  fellows,"  addressing  the  crowd 
in  the  rear,  "  don't  get  excited  !  Trip  up  any  fellow  rush- 
ing towards  goal  with  the  ball ;  and,  if  we  here  are  making 
headwa}-,  press  in  after  us  hot  and  heavy.  But  leave  a 
dozen  men  always  in  the  rear.  — Hammersmith,  keep  close 
to  us,  but  don't  get  into  a  fight  if  you  can  help  it."  And, 
turning  to  the  sophomores,  he  cries  out,  — 

"Warners!  " 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  53 

"  Take  'em !  "  returns  Miles  ;  and  Goldie  gives  a  rapid 
run  for  the  ball,  lying  fifty  feet  ahead  of  him  on  the  ground, 
ais  band  following  by  his  side.  He  makes  a  magnificent 
drive  ;  and  the  ball  rises  over  the  heads  of  the  advanced 
sophomores,  falling  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  behind. 
Goldie  and  his  men  forge  ahead,  and,  before  a  return-kick 
can  be  given,  are  well  among  the  sophomores,  keeping  a 
sharp  lookout  on  every  side. 

The  ball  comes  bounding  toward  them.  Pinckney 
jumps  high  for  it,  catches  it,  and  starts  to  run  toward  the 
enemy's  goal.  A  dozen  blows  are  aimed  at  him,  several 
of  them  telling  severely ;  but  he  holds  on  to  the  ball,  Miles 
and  other  sophomores  closing  round  him.  The  pupils  of 
"The  Chicken"  are  working  bravely  now:  but  they  are 
on  both  sides  ;  and  the  question  is  the  old  Waterloo  prob- 
lem, which  can  ' '  pound  the  longer,  gentlemen. ' '  Pinckney 
catches  a  stinging  blow  under  his  left  ear,  and  turns  invol- 
untarily to  see  his  assailant.  A  small  sophomore  immedi- 
ately trips  him,  seizes  the  ball,  and  darts  obliquely  for  the 
front. 

"After  him!"  shouts  Goldie;  and  as  many  as  can 
evade  the  press  start  in  pursuit.  Tom  happens  to  be  in 
his  path,  and  throws  himself  wildly  on  the  runner.  They 
both  fall  heavily,  in  a  cloud  of  dust ;  but  the  h'ttle  man 
rights  himself,  and  tosses  the  ball  to  his  friends. 

Several  of  the  freshmen  are  limping  and  bloody  by  this 
time.  Tom  has  lost  half  a  coat-lapel ;  Pinckne}r's  left 
hand  is  disabled ;  Freemantle  keeps  one  eye  knowingly 
closed ;  Goldie  and  the  rest  of  the  chiefs  are  panting  hard 
with  the  exertion,  but  rallying  boklty  after  the  ball  as  it 
goes  here  and  there. 

It  is  hopeless  to  expect  the  rabble  of  inexperienced  lads 

l;o  stand  against  the  organized  sophomores,  who  have  been 

through  the  mill  before,  knr>w  each  other's   strong  and 

'weak  points,  and  are  to-day  "regulars"  fighting  against 

'/raw  recruits." 


54  HAMMERSMITH: 

The  freshmen  hold  out  pluckily,  however.  Stand  after 
stand  is  made ;  roosting  urchins  on  the  fence  cry  out, 
"  Well  done,  Freshy !  "  and  bright  eyes  flash  with  admira- 
tion, or  melt  in  pit}T,  as  Tom's  classmates  make  a  good 
sally,  or  some  unhappy  fellow  finds  himself  ploughing 
through  the  ground  on  his  nose. 

Tom  has  a  bout  with  the  small  sophomore  again  on  the 
edge  of  the  game,  and  discovers  him  to  be  the  same  little 
wretch  that  had  insulted  him  at  Parker's,  when  a  sub- 
freshman.  But  they  are  both  novices  at  pounding ;  and 
after  a  good  deal  of  squaring  about,  and  truculent  regard- 
ing of  each  other,  they  are  not  sony  to  see  the  crowd 
swaying  in  their  direction,  and  sweeping  over  their  battle- 
field. 

So  the  ball  and  the  surging  crowds  go  back  and  forth  ; 
men  are  rolled  over,  and  come  up  the  color  of  mother- 
earth  ;  and  players  on  both  sides,  who  have  won  their 
local  glory  at  Exeter  or  Dixwell's,  or  the  other  schools, 
perform  prodigies  of  valor,  striving  for  still  wider  fame. 
But  slowly  and  surely  the  freshmen  are  driven  back 
towards  their  goal,  contesting  every  foot.  A  rush  by 
Miles  and  his  crew,  a  lively  scrimmage  under  the  trees 
by  Professor's  Row,  and  the  ball  is  sent  flying  over  the 
freshmen's  goal,  while  Miles  shouts,  "  Game  !  " 

There  are  cheers  and  shouts  from  the  spectators,  and 
many  cries  of  admiration  for  the  freshmen's  pluck,  — 
"  Bravo,  freshmen !  better  luck  next  time  !  "  "  Oh,  well 
led,  Goldie !  "  and  so  on.  The  parties  change  sides, 
resting  a  while  under  the  trees  at  either  end.  The  sopho- 
mores scatter  more  or  less,  some  of  them  going  out  to 
chat  with  their  friends  in  the  carriages,  their  chests  still 
heaving  a  little,  but  conscious,  let  us  suspect,  that  their 
muscles,  and  their  torn  clothing,  and  the  "drops  of 
onset,"  lend  a  peculiar  interest  in  certain  eyes. 

"  How  could  yon  trip  up  that   poor  little   freshman 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  55 

though?"  says  Miss  Fayerweather,  beaming  from  her 
carriage  upon  Apple  ton,  one  of  the  waist  oars  of  the 
sophomore  crew.  And  Appleton  shoots  a  return-beam, 
and  begins  something  about  "  What's  a  freshman?  "  when 
Miles  calls,  "  Warners  !  "  again ;  and  he  lifts  his  hat,  and 
runs  off. 

Goldie  had  spoken  a  few  words  to  his  fellows  as  they 
lay  under  the  two  trees  before  mentioned,  had  compli- 
mented them  on  their  pluck,  and  made  some  changes  in 
organization. 

"  We  are  not  strong  enough  in  front.  Don't  you  see, 
we  want  more  driving  force  ?  Penhallow,  Hammersmith, 
and  some  of  you  fellows,  keep  closer  with  us,  and  go  in 
for  the  rushes.  If  I  shout  '  Go  it ! '  let  every  man  lay  to, 
and  do  the  best  boxing  that  he's  capable  of.  We  shall 
have  the  wind  this  time,  and  we'll  give  'em  a  closer  rub, 
or  my  name's  not  Goldie.  What  do  you  say?"  And 
they  wagged  their  heads,  and  tightened  belts,  making  up 
their  minds  to  do  or  die  this  very  afternoon. 

Miles  kicks  ;  and  the  bah1  goes  skimming  over  the  heads 
of  the  freshmen,  even  farther  than  at  the  first  kick-off. 
The  very  rear-guard  —  made  up  of  the  laggards,  the  timid, 
and  the  delicate  —  pick  it  up,  and  rush  it  forward  to  the 
van,  who  have  turned  to  meet  it.  But  the  sophomores 
are  upon  them,  charging  with  the  idea  of  making  short 
work  of  this  inning,  and  overturning  freshmen  right  and 
left  as  they  plunge  in.  Goldie  looks  serious.  He  sees 
that  they  are  to  have  rough  work,  if  they  would  win. 
He  shouts,  "Go  it !  "  to  his  band;  and  at  the  signal 
they  square  off,  and  begin  to  use  their  fists  in  earnest, 
each  selecting  a  foeman  worthy  of  his  steel. 

Yes,  madam,  they  begin  using  their  fists,  — experto  crede, 

,—  on  your  darling  of  a  Sam,  my  dear  Mrs.  Malachite,  and 

•uu  other  devoted  offspring  by  his  side.     I  can  only  hope 

'  that  your  Samnry  was  in  the  front  rank,  taking  his  pound- 


56  HAMMERSMITH : 

ing  like  a  man.  It  would  be  somewhat  of  a  consolation  foi 
*his  chronicler  of  a  bygone  savage  custom  to  know,  that. 
if  the  custom  must  be  sustained,  ever}r  man  was  on  hand 
and  doing  his  share  of  the  hard  work.  This  is  a  chroni- 
cle, and  not  a  sermon  ;  and  if  your  Sam  came  home  with 
a  very  ensanguined  eye  that  week,  my  dear  madam,  and 
if  Hammersmith  was  its  colorist,  you  must  blame  neither 
me  nor  Hammersmith.  I  am  but  the  biographer  of  a 
brief  period  of  his  life :  he  is  merely  a  follower  of  your 
own  cherub  in  his  adherence  to  a  tune-honored  institu- 
tion, —  "  time-hon'rd  inchtooshon,  very  long  time-hon'red 
inchtooshon,"  as  yowc  son  and  heir  proclaimed  it  this 
very  evening  after  the  game  at  a  festive  little  meeting  in 
McGregor's  rooms. 

The  game  goes  whirling  on.  The  ball  is  almost  lost 
sight  of  for  a 'while,  as  the  leaders  of  both  parties  are 
engaged  in  single  combat,  and  the  rest  await  the  issue. 

Tom  had  met  more  than  his  match  this  time.  When 
Goldie's  signal  came,  he  found  himself  near  the  fence, 
towards  the  quadrangle ;  and,  turning  to  select  his  man, 
he  ran  plump  into  McGregor,  a  smallish  but  long-armed 
boating-man,  who  immediately  made  for  him,  and  put 
him  on  his  defence.  Poor  Tom  put  in  practice  the  few 
hints  on  counter  and  defence  that  Goldie  had  given  him ; 
out  the  science  and  long  arms  of  the  boating-man  were 
too  much  for  him.  He  received  a  shivering  blow  under 
the  chin,  staggered  a  moment,  but  came  up  with  a  good 
defence  and  clinched  teeth.  An  old  gentleman  on  the 
sidewalk  leaned  over  the  fence,  and  shook  his  cane  dep- 
recating!}', "  Why,  3"oung  men,  3'ou're  fighting,  you're 
fighting!  "  and  young  ladies  looking  on  held  their  breath 
to  see  the  way  that  Tom  stood  up  under  the  blows,  which 
were  coming  faster  and  more  effectively  as  he  began  to 
lose  his  head  more  and  more.  He  remembered  afterward 
hearing  the  old  gentleman's  call,  and  vowing  that  he'<} 
die  game  for  the  old  man's  edification,  at  any  rate. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  57 

McGregor  was  not  to  be  stopped  longer  by  tliis  stub- 
born freshman,  however,  and  made  a  furious  rush  at  him. 
Tom  caught  the  blow  on  his  right  eye,  and  fell  backward 
heavily  just  a  second  too  soon ;  for  Goldie,  who  had  had 
a  drawn  battle  with  Miles  not  far  away,  spying  Tom's 
plight,  dashed  towards  him,  and  sent  McGregor  reeling 
in  the  opposite  direction.  The  crowd  now  came  tearing 
this  way  with  the  ball,  and,  before  Tom  and  McGregor 
could  rise,  had  rushed  completely  over  them,  leaving 
freshmen  and  sophomores  piled  about  them  and  above 
them. 

"All  right?"  asked  Goldie,  as  he  pulled  Tom  from 
under  a  wreck  of  freshmen. 

"  Y-e-s,  I  think  so,"  said  Tom,  trying  his  jaw,  and 
blinking  with  one  eye,  while  he  grinned  through  a  dusty 
stratum. 

"  Follow  me,  then,"  returned  Goldie,  plunging  like  an 
old  war-horse  into  the  thickest  of  the  fight ;  and,  followed 
by  Tom,  he  made  his  way  as  best  he  could  towards  the 
ball. 

Heavens  !  Miles  has  it !  He  has  passed  the  van  of  the 
freshmen,  and  is  making  with  long  strides  for  their  goal. 
Will  nobody  stop  him  ?  But  what  is  this  ? 

From  the  freshmen's  very  rear  a  tall  figure,  in  long, 
flapping  coat,  suddenly  darts  towards  the  rushing  Miles 
as  he  is  preparing  to  kick  the  ball  over  the  goal.  He  falls 
upon  the  very  kick,  as  it  were,  plucks  the  ball  from  him, 
and  dashes  forward,  Miles  striking  at  him  in  vain.  He 
dodges  men  and  blows  alike ;  his  men  gather  in  his  wake, 
but  he  presses  on  ahead  of  them  all. 

"Who  is  he?"  "Is  Lea  freshman?"  "He's  the 
devil!" 

"  Bj~  Jove,  it's  Breese,"  gasps  Pinckney, — "  the  fellow 
that  nearly  broke  my  fist.  Follow  him  —  hurrah!  "  And 
the  gallant  Pinckne}*,  almost  gone  with  fatigue  from  his 


58  HAMMERSMITH : 

rapid  work,  —  for  he  has  been  everywhere,  —  makes  aftei 
him  with  the  rest  of  the  freshmen. 

And  Breese  strides  and  rolls  on  through  the  crowd,  as 
though  he  were  himself  india-rubber.  Men  dart  out,  and 
deal  him  blows ;  but  he  brushes  them  off  with  his  long, 
sinewy  arms.  They  trip  him  up ;  but  he  rolls  over  and 
over,  and  comes  up  hugging  the  ball  as  if  it  were  a  pet 
"principle,"  or  he  a  kangaroo  in  flight.  The  fleetest 
runners  make  after  him  ;  but  he  only  shows  them  his  long 
coat-tails  floating  horizontally  on  tLc  breeze. 

"He's  down!" 

He  surely  is;  and  a  mass  of  struggling  men  —  Miles, 
Appleton,  McGregor,  Goldie,  and  many  others  —  are 
fighting  and  falling  about  him.  Nobody  can  see  for  the 
dust,  and  the  crowd  outside  the  Delta  is  filled  with  excite- 
ment ;  for  it  is  the  turning-point  of  the  game,  as  every- 
body can  see,  and  the  apparition  of  the  long-skirted  one 
is  a  novelty  in  the  learned  neighborhood. 

Nobody  can  see  and  nobody  can  tell  who  will  emerge 
with  the  ball ;  but  as  the  struggling  and  pushing  go  on, 
and  a  dozen  men  are  rolling  in  the  dust  about  Breese,  he 
suddenly  extracts  himself  from  the  mass,  holding  the  ball, 
and  rushes,  with  a  solitary  coat-tail  now  following  him 
like  an  exclamation-point,  for  the  sophomore  goal.  A 
few  men  are  standing  guard,  expecting  a  rush  ;  but,  just 
before  reaching  them,  he  takes  a  drop-lack,  and  sends  the 
ball  flying  far  up  into  the  apex  of  the  Delta. 

The  freshmen  cry, -"Game,  game!"  and  run  up  to 
congratulate  Breese,  who  does  not  wait  for  them ;  but, 
vaulting  the  fence  in  an  easy  manner,  makes  his  way 
through  the  carriages,  and  quietly  walks  towards  the 
halls. 

"Breese,  Breese,  come  back!"  his  classmates  shout; 
and  Goldie,  Pinckney,  and  others  rush  after  him. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  come  back,  man!     Where  are 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  69 

7011   going?      You've   saved   our   side,  my  dear  fellow. 
Aren't  you  well?  "  asked  Goldie. 

"  Perfectly  so.  I've  had  enough,  that's  all."  And  nc 
amount  of  beseeching  and  complimenting  could  bring  him 
back.  He  went  off  slowly  to  his  rooms,  as  though  return 
ing  from  an  afternoon  constitutional:  and  the  freshmen 
felt  much  like  the  Romans  after  the  battle  of  the  Lake 
Regillus  and  the  disappearance  of  the  two  horsemen ;  or 
as  the  people  of  Hadley  after  the  Indian  fight,  and  their 
deliverance  by  the  mj'sterious  old  man  in  white  hair,  sup- 
posed to  be  a  regicide,  who  fought,  and  saved  them,  and 
vanished  into  the  night. 

The  evening  light  is  going  fast,  however ;  and  Goldie 
is  calling  ' '  "Warners  ! ' '  again ;  for  the  rubber  comes  now  ; 
and  the  freshmen  will  have  ample  time  after  this  to  discuss 
their  curious  victory. 

We  need  hardly  follow  them  through  this  last  struggle. 
%  The  game  wavered  and  varied  much  as  before,  except  that 
the  freshmen  had  not  the  endurance  of  their  opponents, 
and  worked  with  less  vim  now.  The  encouragement  of 
their  victory,  however,  was  almost  a  counterpoise  for  their 
fatigue ;  and  they  girded  themselves  for  their  work  with 
grim  determination. 

Only  those  who  have  struggled  in  an  up-hill,  stubborn 
game  like  this  for  hours,  who  have  felt  that  the}*  had  a 
furnace  for  lungs,  and  a  scorching  lime-kiln  for  a  throat, 
but  who  have  yet  put  all  their  remaining  strength  into 
the  last  desperate  charges,  can  appreciate  the  condition 
n  which  both  sides,  and  more  especially  the  freshman, 
t.re  playing  this  decisive  rubber.  It  is  a  terrible  strain  on 
the  heart  and  the  lungs,  and  a  test  of  the  stoutest  pluck. 

Only  one  episode  marks  the  grim  monotony  of  the  game 
now,  which  is  played  in  almost  complete  silence. 

The  ball  flies  over  the  fence,  and  falls  in  the  street, 
'  among  a  number  of  carriages  drawn  up  near  the  Delta. 


60  HAMMERSMITH  t 

Horses  snort  and  prance ;  and  a  half-dozen  men  of  both 
sides,  who  have  gone  over  the  fence  like  deer,  da?  a  in 
among  them.  McGregor  has  the  ball ;  but  a  pair  of  iiigh- 
stepping  grays,  from  under  whose  feet  he  had  pulled  it, 
plunge  and  rear ;  and  there  is  a  cry  of  horror,  as  Pi  nek - 
ney,  trying  to  avoid  them,  is  knocked  over,  and  lies 
motionless  under  the  forward-wheels  of  the  carnage. 
There  is  a  rush  for  him ;  and  while  men  of  both  sides 
swarm  over  the  fence,  and  many  too  inquisitive  strangers 
press  around  him,  Goldie,  the  glorious,  comes  vaulting 
over  the  rails,  and  diving  through  the  crowd. 

"  For  God's  sake,  give  him  air,  gentlemen  !  "  he  shouts, 
as  he  pushe*s  them  away,  and  lifts  the  flaccid  form  of  his 
chum.  "  Pinck,  Pinck  !  are  you  hurt?  Where  is  it? — • 
Some 'water,  quick,  some  of  you!  "  And  somebod}7  runs 
for  the  quadrangle. 

Pinckney  opens  his  e}'es  at  length,  draws  a  long  breath, 
with  wide-opened  mouth,  and  puts  his  hand  to  his  side. 
It  was  a  cruel  kick  in  the  side,  which  had  knocked  the 
breath  out  of  him  for  the  moment,  but  has  worked  no 
permanent  injury. 

"  Shall  we  stop  the  game?  "  asked  Miles. 

"  No,  no  !  —  You  can  go  on,  can't  you,  Pinck?  "  said 
Goldie. 

"  I  think  so,"  answered  Pinckney;  and,  straightening 
himself  with  an  effort,  he  climbed  the  fence,  and  took  his 
position ;  while  the  united  classes  and  the  crowds  about 
the  Delta  joined  in  a  might}'  shout,  and  clapping  of  hands. 

"Take  3rour  kick,"  called  Goldie;  and  the  sophomore 
kicked  off.  Pinckney  started,  as  of  old,  in  the  direction 
of  the  ball,  but  doubled  over  as  a  sharp  stitch  in  his 
muscles  caught  him.  He  walked  to  the  side  of  the  Delta, 
.leaned  wearily  against  a  stone  post,  and  saw,  with  a 
bitter,  sickly  feeling,  in  less  than  five  minutes,  the  victo- 
rious sophomores  driving  the  ball  over  the  freshman  goal 


HIS  HAJIVARD   DAYS.  61 

Victory  had  settled  with  the  sophomores,  to  b«.  sure. 
But  as  the  conquerors  and  their  not  unworthy  opponents 
mingled,  and  walked  towards  the  quadrangle,  and  the 
mass  of  spectators  broke  up  and  molted  away,  if  you  had 
been  among  them,  you  would  have  heard  them  declaring 
that  such  a  well  -fought  game  had  never  been,  in  the 
memory  of  the  oldest  graduate.  Miles  and  Goldie,  leaders 
and  followers,  were  complimented  on  their  brilliant  play  ; 
and  Tom  felt  that  his  cup  was  full  when  McGregor,  who 
had  knocked  him  down,  caught  him  up  as  they  were  near- 
ing  the  halls,  and  extended  his  hand  frankly,  sa}ing,  — 

"How's  the  e}'e,  Hammersmith?  You're  the  toughest 
customer,  for  a  novice,  that  I  ever  got  hold  of."  And 
Tom  opened  a  rather  unhappy  eye  for  proof,  and  became  a 
fast  friend  of  his  generous  antagonist,  from  that  dr\y  on. 

So  the  first  rough  initiation  into  his  university  life  had 
come  and  gone ;  and  Tom  (who  could  call  this  his  first 
initiation  without  tautology,  for  he  was  to  have  many 
more),  in  spite  of  pounding  and  bruises,  weeping  eye,  and 
somewhat  of  disgust  at  the  rather  barbarous  pastime,  was 
glad  that  he  had  been  through  it,  and  felt  more  of  a  man 
than  ever  in  his  life  before,  as  he  walked  to  his  room  in 
the  midst  of  these  fellows,  who  could  gire  and  take  such 
severe  punishment  without  wincing. 

Philosophers,  and  3-011,  gentle  readers,  may  smile ;  but 
such  was  the  fact.  I  find  in  Tom's  diar}-,  under  date  of 
Monday,  Sept.  19,  185-,  the  following  entry :  — 

"  Weather  fine  all  day.  Recitations  not  yet  under  way,  except 
in  Latin.  Darby  is  a  brick.  Took  little  lesson  in  boxing  in 
Goldie's  room.  Football  match  in  evening;  great  crowd.  Bowed 
to  Miss  Darby;  had  pretty  girls  with  her.  We  won  only  one  in- 
nings, —  the  second.  Breese,  queer  fellow  ran  clear  through  with 
ball.  Fight  with  McGregor ;  knocked  down;  bad  eye.  Pinckney 
licked  by  horse.  '  Bloody  Monday  '  night;  lots  of  hazing.  [Hew 
occurs  a  star,  referring  to  a  blank  page  at  the  end  of  his  book, 
where  he  went  for  space  to  describe  the  hazing  of  that  evening. 


62  HAMMERSMITH : 

We  need  not  follow  him  now.]    Feel  more  of  a  man  to-night  than 
ever  in  my  life.     Began  a  letter  home." 

Of  all  the  ring  of  spectators  that  clay,  who  cheered  and 
shouted,  held  their  breath,  and  laughed  at  the  horizontal 
coat-tail,  there  was  no  one  who  followed  the  game  in  gen- 
eral, and  Mr.  Tom  in  particular,  with  more  interest  than 
our  friend  the  "Duke,"  sitting  in  a  drag  with  his  old 
classmate  Shaw,  who  was  just  home  from  a  two-years' 
absence,  hunting  in  South  Africa. 

He  had  settled  himself  in  his  club  —  dreaiy  and  de- 
serted enough  at  this  time  of  year  —  for  an  afternoon  of 
letter-writing,  where  Shaw  had  caught  him,  and  whence 
he  had  whisked  him  out  to  Cambridge  to  renew  his  youth 
(if  the  young  old  boy  could  be  said  to  need  such  a  reno- 
vation) by  a  look  at  the  match.  They  were  late,  and 
drew  up  near  the  corner  of  Quincy  and  Cambridge  Streets, 
just  in  time  to  see  Tom  squaring  off  in  his  fatal  bout  with 
McGregor. 

"Good  gad!  there's  my  youngster  at  it,  like  a  pile- 
driver  !  Whew !  he's  down !  Can't  you  drive  a  little 
nearer,  Shaw?"  And  the  anxious  uncle  stood  up  in  his 
place,  and  almost  lost  his  balance,  as  the  tandem  wound 
about  to  a  nearer  point  of  view.  "Ah!  he's  up  again, 
grinning  like  a  Cheshire  cat.  There  he  goes  !  "  And  he 
rattled  on  thus  about  his  beloved  charge,  while  Shaw  kept 
his  restless  horses  in  control. 

He  had  followed  the  fluctuating  game  with  the  most 
absorbed  interest,  giving  a  long,  old-fashioned  cheer  when 
the  freshmen  had  won,  and  following  Tom  with  his  eyes 
everywhere.  He  saw  Tom  rendering  a  good  account  of 
himself  in  the  rushes  and  struggles  and  set-tos  •  and  he 
smiled  as  he  thought  that  he  was  bringing  no  disgrace 
on  the  stout  old  Hammersmith  name  by  skulking,  or 
hanging  back,  or  avoiding  his  share  of  the  fight.  He  had 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  63 

laughed  till  the  scar  on  his  forehead  grew  red  as  fire, 
when  he  saw  the  widowed  coat-skirt  of  Breese  floating 
behind  him  in  his  flight.  He  had  stood  up  again  with 
many  "  Good  gad,  sirs !"  when  Pinckney  was  knocked 
over,  and  the  crowd  had  gathered  about  him. 
.  But  when  the  game  was  over,  and  the  men  were  scat- 
tering, he  had  lost  sight  of  Tom,  and,  not  finding  him  at 
his  rooms,  had  driven  back  to  a  late  dinner  with  Shaw ; 
after  which,  they  dressed,  and  dropped  in,  at  the  end  of 
the  evening,  at  Mrs.  Minturn's,  disturbing  Mrs.  Mala- 
chite's quiet  tete-a-tete  with  the  host,  by  delivering  to  that 
indefatigable  whist-pla3rer  and  indulgent  mother  the  news 
of  her  Sam's  victory  at  Cambridge.  History  does  not 
relate  what  especial  prowess  the  descendant  of  a  hundred 
Malachites  displayed  that  day.  I  fear  me,  however,  that 
he  was  dancing  wildly  in  the  rear  of  his  party,  and  shout- 
ing, "  At  'em !  At  'em !  "  But  he  was  small. 


64  TJAMMEESitlTn  I 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHICH   DISCLOSES   A   MODERN   FORUM. 

"  Saplentiam  sibi  adimunt  qui  sine  ullo  judiclo  inventa  majorum  probnnt  el 
ab  allls  pecudum  more  ducuntur."  —  LACTANTIUS. 

"Tonto,  sin  saber  Latin,  nunca  es  gran  tonto." — SPANISH  PROVERB. 

HOW  simple  and  artless  seem  those  early  weeks  of 
freshman  life  in  retrospect !  and  yet  how  grand 
and  world-shaking  they  were  in  the  minds  of  the  young 
neophytes  !  I  doubt  if  any  of  the  chiefs  whom  we  follow 
in  later  life,  in  church,  or  state,  or  social  ways  (if  so  be 
we  follow  any),  have  the  satisfying  proportions  of  those 
earlier  captains  of  our  class-room,  our  sports,  and  our 
social  world,  —  so  roseate  is  the  imagination,  so  facile  the 
admiration,  of  youth !  How  we  looked  up  to  the  tremen- 
dous senior  walking  slowly  in  deep  thought,  like  the 
ancient  Greek,  whose  learned  men,  according  to  Winckel- 
mann,  were  always  slow  of  gait !  How  the  insouciance 
and  easy  manners  of  the  middle  classes,  freed  from  hobble- 
dehoy hood,  but  not  yet  feeling  the  weight  of  ultimate  dig- 
nity, filled  us  with  wonder  and  admiration !  —  would  we 
ever  leave  our  simple  ways  behind  us,  and  make  so  daz- 
zling a  picture  to  others?  And  the  heroes  around  whom 
we  began  to  cluster  in  our  own  class,  were  there  ever 
greater?  —  Brown,  who  had  carried  off  the  honors  at  Exe- 
ter, and  was  making  faultless  recitations,  passing  perfect 
examinations  in  the  larger  fields  of  Cambridge  letters ; 
Jones  the  athlete,  who  could  whirl  the  hundred-pound 
clubs  as  easily  as  3'ou  or  I  the  fifty,  and  had  been  known 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  65 

to  pull  himself  up  with  one  hand  in  the  rings  thre(  times 
running,  —  the  summa  cum  laude  of  biceps  exercise  ;  Rob- 
inson, champion-walker  of  the  class,  who  had  dene  the 
distance  from  the  Revere  House  to  Harvard  Square  in 
thirty-six  minutes  by  a  stop-watch,  —  good  square  heel- 
and-toe  walking ;  and  all  the  other  head  men,  whose  brain, 
muscle,  or  personal  magnetism  were  carrying  them  to  the 
front,  and  enrolling  an  army  of  worshippers  behind.  Ah, 
how  many  of  them  have  exchanged  sceptres  since  then ! 

Our  modest  Tom,  even,  had  had  a  brief  lease  of  immor- 
tality, and  been  revered  for  a  season  as  the  coming  Greek 
scholar  of  his  class.  His  "  fit "  in  that  "  ancient  mummy- 
bandage  "  had  been  quite  perfect,  thanks  to  Mr.  Andrew 
Pipon.  He  had  passed  a  very  fair  examination  in  it  at 
entrance  ;  and  when,  some  three  weeks  after  the  beginning 
of  fall  term,  it  was  learned  that  he  had  received  maximum 
in  his  first  Greek  examination,  his  fame  was  immediate 
and  vast.  Less  successful  men  pointed  him  out  to  each 
othor  as  he  walked  past  their  rooms,  and  wished  that  they 
had  that  fellow's  brain ;  (the  young  cannibals  !)  the  most 
scholarly  men  of  the  class  received  him  among  them,  think- 
ing that  they  had  at  least  secured  a  Macsenas,  if  not  an 
eminent  genius ;  the  Greek  professor,  even,  so  it  was 
rumored,  had  called  Tom  up,  and  congratulated  him  on  his 
success,  hoping  to  hear  the  "  same  good  report"  of  him 
always  ;  while  Mr.  Tom  carried  his  chin  a  little  higher,  to 
be  sure,  but  otherwise  behaved  as  though  it  were  a  matter 
of  course,  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  —  Greek 
examinations,  what  were  they  !  He  would  stroll  in  and  do 
his  paper  as  easily  as  he  would  write  a  letter  home,  —  and 
so  out  again,  perennial  victor ! 

The  instructors  under  whom  Mr.  Tom  was  placed  in 
this  first  year  of  his  college-career,  as  they  made  more 
impression  on  his  tender  life  than  those  of  later  years, 
demand  a  few  words.  « 


86  HAMMERSMITH : 

Chief  among  them,  in  Tom's  mind,  was  the  Profcsso* 
Darby  at  whom  we  have  hastily  glanced  once  or  twice 
already.  As  we  shall  meet  him  many  times  again,  please 
God,  we  need  add  little  to  his  sketchy  outline  in  this 
place,  except  to  say  that  he  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of 
life,  a  scholar  by  instinct  and  inheritance,  and  filled  with 
a  heart}*  zest  and  enthusiasm,  which  especially  endeared 
him  to  his  young  pupils.  They  sat  through  his  longest 
lectures  on  Eoman  literature,  and  his  most  tortuous  me- 
diasval  genealogies,  because  he  made  every  fact  a  breath- 
ing reality  to  them.  And  had  they  not  seen  him  this 
very  afternoon  watching  their  cricket-game  from  over  the 
fence,  smoking  his  cigar  in  contemplative  after-dinner 
content?  Hadn't  he  complimented  Clifford  on  his  bril- 
liant bowling,  when  he  passed  by  the  profei^or  in  pursuit 
of  the  ball  ?  —  "  Beautifully  bowled,  Mr.  Clifford !  Pretty 
little  corner  of  the  game  you  make ;  you  as  bowler,  and 
Thorpe  at  mid-wicket."  And  weren't  they  aware  that  he 
was  present  at  every  regatta  and  match,  if  possible,  with 
his  wife  and  daughter,  Miss  Ellen,  applauding  with  the 
most  enthusiastic !  Ah  !  and  how  they  wished  they  had 
him  for  president,  in  place  of  "  old  Dummer,"  ^Egidius 
Dummer,  faugh !  In  fact,  he  was  the  most  popular, 
because  the  most  natural  and  heart}*,  of  the  professors  of 
Tom's  day;  and  "the  fellows"  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  blowing  up  their  grandmothers  as  of  making  a 
disturbance  in  his  class-room.  The  "  Old  Darby  "  which 
they  called  him  was  a  sign  of  the  most  devoted  affection, 
far  different  from  the  feeling  covered  by  "  Old  Dummer," 
or  "  Old  Wizzen,"  or  "  Old  Bone."  Easy  popularity,  if 
all  instructors  were  only  gentlemen,  and  could  treat  their 
charges  as  though  they  were  flesh  and  blood,  and  not 
anatomist's  specimens. 

Tutor  Bone, — Philander  Bone, — head  scholar  of  his 
cl&ss,  now  several  j-ears  graduated,  at  present  instructor 


HIS   HARVABD  DAYS.  67 

in  physics,  and  lecturer  on  chemical  analysis,  was  at  the 
antipodes  from  Professor  Darby  in  point  of  personal 
popularity.  If  he  had  applied  at  the  State  Department 
for  a  passport  to  foreign  parts,  —  a  thing  which  his  ardent 
patriotism,  and  his  hatred  of  the  "  effete  civilizations  of 
Europe,"  would  never  allow, — his  description  therein 
would  have  read  somewhat  as  follows  :  "  Philander  Bone, 
tutor  of  youth,  age  twenty-seven,  height  five  feet  ten 
inches,  weight  one  hundred  and  thirty-two  pounds,  eyes 
blue,  hair  yellow,  figure  very  spare,  no  visible  hair  on  the 
face,  uses  glasses,  has  a  slight  lisp."  His  head  was 
enormously  developed,  his  ears  standing  almost  at  right 
angles  with  it ;  and  when  he  donned  his  soft  black  hat,  of 
a  style  that  he  always  affected,  with  all  this  expansive 
head-gear  he  gave  one  the  impression  of  a  porter  approach- 
ing, with  a  mass  of  baggage  on  his  shoulders.  He  was  a 
most  exemplar}'  man,  I  doubt  not,  but  quite  out  of  his 
place  as  a  "  tutor  of  youth."  He  was  like  Thoreau's 
heav}*-topped  men,  of  ideas  instead  of  legs,  —  a  sort  of 
intellectual  centipede,  that  made  you  crawl  all  over. 
Certain  am  I,  that,  if  Sydney  Smith  had  met  him  in  the 
streets  of  Cambridge,  he  would  have  buttonholed  him, 
and  said  in  a  tragic  whisper,  "  My  dear  unknown  friend, 
your  intellect  is  indecently  exposed.  Run  as  fast  as  your 
legs  will  carry  you.  Here's  a  policeman." 

Ranged  between  these  antipodes  —  Darby  and  Bone  — 
were  several  other  instructors  of  more  or  less  negative 
characteristics,  under  whose  ministrations  Tom  and  his 
classmates  came. 

Dr.  Briniblecom  alone  stood  out  among  them  as  an 
especial  friend  of  the  students,  —  a  mild-mannered  man, 
whose  quiet  gaze  seemed  hardly  to  comprehend  his  sur- 
roundings, but  whose  ample  heart  had  room  for  the 
troubles  and  trials  of  any  or  all  of  the  undergraduates 
wl/.  chose  to  come  to  him.  How  man  who  knew  i£ 


68  HAMMERSMITH : 

went  to  him  for  advice  and  consolation  as  a  kindly  reposi 
tory  for  their  student  griefs  ! 

Let  me,  in  this  place,  distinctly  state,  however,  before 
proceeding  farther,  that  I  do  not  hope  or  endeavor,  in 
these  pages,  to  do  justice  to  the  great  kindness,  the  self- 
sacrificing,  scholarly  lives,  of  the  various  members  of  the 
faculty  of  Hammersmith's  day.  This  chronicle  can  do 
little  more  than  follow  the  history  of  Mr.  Tom  and  his 
immediate  friends',  as  I  find  it  set  down  in  his  journals, 
and  gather  it  from  the  young  gentleman's  lips ;  and  into 
it  can  be  introduced  only  the  two  or  three  instructors  who 
had  more  or  less  influence  on  the  history  in  question. 

Let  the  indulgent  reader  continue  to  imagine,  therefore, 
this  more  sober  background  of  persevering,  kind-hearted, 
often  distinguished  body  of  gentlemen,  against  which  the 
light  movements  of  the  young  undergraduates  stand  out 
in  relief ;  and  let  me  not  seem  insensible  to  their  larger, 
more  scholarly  life,  because  the  limits  of  tins  biography 
do  not  allow  of  the  inti'oduction  of  many  of  their  number 
into  its  pages. 

There  was  an  ancient  superstition,  —  I  know  not  from 
what  dim  source, — that  societies  of  all  kinds  were  pro- 
hibited in  freshman  year.  Whether  it  was  really  derived 
from  the  "College  Bible,"  —  as  the  rules  and  regula- 
tions are  called,  —  or  had  as  ghostly  an  origin  as  the  leap 
of  McKean  from  Hollis  to  Harvard  Hall,  or  as  those  fab- 
ulous legends  which  are  retailed  for  the  purpose  of  making 
each  particular  freshman  hair  to  stand  on  end,  is  not  at 
this  distance  known.  The  veneration  usually  paid  to  col- 
lege superstitions,  however,  of  never  so  recent  growth, 
was  accorded  to  this,  as  a  general  thing. 

But  there  was  a  clannish  spirit,  as  well  as  a  sprouting 
genius,  in  Tom's  class,  which  could  not  endure  the  inhibi- 
tory maxim.  Tom  and  his  friends  had  not  been  manj 
weeks  in  Cambridge,  therefore,  before  a  club  was  formed 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  69 

"  for  purposes  of  mutual  improvement,  debate,  ^nd  the 
learning  of  parliamentary  law,"  as  its  preamble  set  forth 
rather  clumsily;  the  "mutual  improvement"  admitting 
of  a  wide  solution,  as  Sir  Thomas  Browne  would  say, 
according  to  the  tastes  and  interpretations  of  the  mem- 
bers, and  covering,  perhaps,  the  lessons  in  manners  and 
customs,  *jhe  comparative  coloring  of  meerschaums,  and 
the  free-and-easy  proceedings  of  their  ordinary  meetings, 
as  well  as  matters  more  purely  literary.  It  was  "  an  awful 
secret,"  this  club,  —  "expelled,  if  we  are  found  out," 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  and  after  the  first  meeting  in 
Albemarle's  rooms,  where  the  subscribers  were  heavily 
sworn  to  secrecy  and  loyalty,  they  went  about  their  col- 
lege-duties burdened  with  a  sense  of  the  fearful  risks  they 
ran,  and  the  tremendous  eflect  they  were  to  have  in 
shaping  the  thought  of  the  age.  It  was  to  be  no  con- 
vivial or  wide-ranging  societj*,  like  many  that  might  be 
mentioned.  Its  purpose  was  plain,  its  character  was  to 
be  severe:  what  other  name  than  "The  Forum"  could 
satisfy  these  classical  name-hunters  ? 

Albemarle  —  a  Boston  man  of  the  severely- classical 
type,  cold-blooded,  if  you  will,  and  conservative,  but 
of  keen  mind  and  scholarly  tastes  —  was  its  first  presi- 
dent. Goldie,  our  friend,  was  secretary.  Pinckney,  Free- 
mantle,  Hammersmith,  Penhallow,  and  several  others, 
some  of  whom  we  have  mentioned  before,  were  members. 

Can  an}-  thing  exceed  the  gravity  and  range  of  the 
discussions  of  these  young  orators  ?  As  nothing  but  the 
most  substantial  of  names  would  satisfy  them  for  the  club, 
so  they  would  endure  none  but  the  most  ponderous  sub- 
jects for  debate  and  oration.  There  were  to  be  none  of 
your  ordinary  schoolboy  themes:  "Which  is  the  better 
plac,e  for  a  university,  —  cit}*,  or  country?  "  a*id  the  like, 
but  heavy,  solemn  queries,  which  have  vexed  the  tough 
brains  of  philosophers  and  statesmen  for  centuries,  be- 
side£  others  evolved  out  of  their  own  intellects. 


70  HAMMERSMITH: 

It  is  curious  to  follow  the  careers  of  these  ambitious 
young  debaters  among  whom  Mr.  Tom  first  tried  his 
teeth  on  the  tough  nuts  of  philosophy  and  politics. 
Time,  alas  !  has  dealt  roughly  with  some.  Many  of  thoso 
young  forms  that  stood  up  so  proudly  in  debate  have 
marched  with  prouder  grandeur  to  meet  the  stern  argu- 
ment of  war.  Many  have  gone  down  in  nameless  strug- 
gles. Some  have  been  lost  in  the  great  rabble  of  life, 
jostling  and  pushing  —  towards  what  ?  Some  have  risen 
to  eminence ;  others  are  known  in  both  hemispheres.  A 
few  pass  each  other  with  a  cold  nod  ;  still  fewer  retain  the 
fire  and  zest  of  those  early  days. 

And  their  callow  arguments  and  opinions,  where  are 
they?  Here  is  TVasson,  who  was  the  dainty  aristocrat  and 
conservative  politician  of  the  day  and  "  The  Forum,"  who 
made  ringing  speeches  about  this  being  a  "  white  man's 
government,"  and  advocated  sending  the  negroes  back  to 
Liberia  ("  Yes,  sir  ;  every  mother's  son  of  them,"  he  had 
shouted  in  his  peroration,  for  which  he  was  called  to  order 
by  the  chairman,  "  Gushing' s  Manual  "  under  his  thumb), 
—  Wasson,  I  say,  who  joined  the  John  Brown  party  in 
Kansas,  and  fell  by  the  rifle  of  a  border-ruffian  near  Ossa- 
wattomie.  Here  is  L}'tton,  who  maintained  that  poetry 
was  the  true  lever  of  society,  and  inveighed  for  above  an 
hour,  at  a  protracted  meeting,  against  materialism  and  its 
encroachments,  —  LjTtton,  who  presides  at  the  best-laid 
table  in  New  York,  is  vice-president  of  the  Four-in-hand 
Club,  and  has  several  material  sons,  who  are  diving  deep 
into  his  money-chest  for  their  quite  material  luxuries. 
And  Freemantle  and  Goldie  and  Hammersmith,  and  the 
rest?  We  shall  see  more  of  them  before  we  are  through. 

Small  wonder  if  "  The  Forum,"  with  its  weekly  meet- 
ings, and  its  cudgelling  of  knotty  arguments,  came,  after 
a  while,  to  be  regarded  as  rather  a  sombre  institution,  and 
if  its  members  were  just  a  trifle  sated  with  the  heavy  fare 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  71 

served  up  to  them  every  sennight.  Like  so  muiiy  institu 
tions,  however,  which  do  not  know  how  to  die  gracefully, 
it  continued  to  (bag  on  an  enfeebled  existence,  and  was  in 
a  fair  way  to  adjourn  sine  die,  when  an  event  occurred 
which  put  a  new  life  into  it,  or,  at  least,  stirred  its  d}'ing 
ashes  a  bit. 

Breese's  novel  appearance  at  the  football  game,  hia 
kangaroo  race,  his  victory,  and  stout  refusal  to  join  in  the 
concluding  part  of  the  game,  had  naturally  been  the  sub- 
ject of  much  comment  among  his  classmates.  Men  asked 
each  other  who  he  was,  where  he  was  from,  what  sort  of 
a  fellow  he  was,  and  where  he  lived  in  college,  and  specu- 
lated as  to  what  he  could  mean,  by  such  odd  behavior  as 
leaving  them  in  the  lurch  in  that  way.  The  college  cata- 
logue gave  them  answers  to  some  of  their  questions : 
"  John  Breese,  Cincinnati,  O.,  Graduates  Hall,  No.  18." 
But  whatever  pique  or  disgust  they  might  feel  at  his 
strange  conduct  was  stilled  by  the  consideration,  that 
but  for  his  charge,  strange  as  it  was,  and  with  so  strange 
a  sequel,  the}'  would  have  won  absolutely  no  glorjr  in  the 
game  in  question ;  so  that  Breesff  became,  in  a  sense, 
master  of  the  field,  and  kept  his  own  counsel. 

He  was  known  to  live  in  Graduates  Hall.  Men  had 
been  to  his  rooms,  and  reported  their  plain  furniture  and 
scant}-  array  of  books  ;  both  furniture  and  books  of  rather 
an  heroic  type,  as  the  simple  iron  bed,  and  the  Marcus 
Aurehus,  Epictetus,  Carlyle,  Emerson,  and  other  well- 
thumbed  books,  showed.  He  was  known  to  be  making 
brilhant  recitations,  his  attendance  at  chapel  was  as  regu- 
lar as  the  tolling  of  the  bell ;  but  he  was  seldom  seen 
walking  or  talking  with  his  classmates.  He  took  long 
constitutionals  by  himself,  flourisning  a  stout  walking-stick 
of  knotty  oak ;  and  it  was  when  returning  from  one  of 
these  that  he  net  Hammersmith  near  Frean  Pond,  coming 
across  from  Belinont  by  the  railway.  The  men  were,  of 


72  HAMMERSMITH : 

course  known  to  each  other  by  name  long  before  this  ;  and 
though  Breese  put  on  a  little  more  steam,  and  lengthened 
his  pace  for  Cambridge,  Tom  overhauled  him  with  a 
cheery,  "  How  are  you,  Breese?  Stretching  your  legs  a 
bit,  eh?  I'll  walk  in  with  you,  if  you  don't  mind."  And 
the  two  came  in  side  by  side  to  Harvard  Square,  much  to 
the  wonder  of  some  of  Tom's  friends,  who  were  going  in 
to  afternoon  recitation. 

That  evening  the  following  conversation  took  place  in 
Hammersmith's  rooms,  where  Goldie  and  Pinckney,  and 
several  other  men,  had  "  dropped  up,"  as  they  expressed 
it,  to  discuss  a  hamper  just  received  by  Tom  from  the 
"Duke." 

"  I  say,  Goldie,  think  I've  made  a  find  for  '  The 
Forum,'  "  said  Hammersmith.  "  Whom  do  you  think?  " 

"  Why,  Breese,  of  course  !  Didn't  we  see  you  toddling 
in  with  him  this  afternoon,  chummy  as  could  be?  He's  a 
fine  bird  for  '  The  Forum,'  eh,  Pinck?  " 

"I  should  say  so.  'Agriculture,  Mr.  President  and 
fellow-Romans,  potatoes,  onions,  turnips  '  — fiddlesticks  ! " 

"Well,  now,  don't ^ou  be  in  such  a  hurry,  my  dear 
fellow  !  "  said  Hammersmith.  "  Have  you  ever  had  five 
words  with  him,  except  when  he  squeezed  your  fist  so? 
I  have  ;  and  I  can  tell  you  that  he  talks  like  a  book,  has 
mighty  clean-cut  ideas,  and  isn't  afraid  to  blurt  'em  out. 
He's  a  topping  good  walker,  too,  by  Jove  !  My  respect 
for  him  has  increased  a  hundred  per  cent  since  he  spurted 
in  from  Fresh  Pond  at  such  a  pace  this  afternoon." 

"  Thought  3-ou  looked  a  little  blown,"  chimed  in  Pinck- 
ney, leaning  forward  to  prod  a  pickle. 

There  was  no  especial  enthusiasm  on  the  subject  of 
Breese  manifested ;  but,  as  the  host  of  the  evening  had 
made  the  proposition,  it  was  decided  that  Tom  should  be 
appointed  ambassador  to  negotiate  with  Breese,  and  "  pro- 
duce either  him  or  his  dead  body,"  as  somebody  proposec1 
by  way  of  codicil. 


HIS  HABVABD  DAYS.  73 

The  result  was,  that  at  the  next  meeting  of  "The 
Forum,"  which  occurred  in  Tom's  own  rooms,  —  for  the 
club  was  nomadic  b}*  necessity,  —  Breese  appeared,  was 
dul}'  sworn,  and  continued  from  that  day  an  active  Roman 
citizen.  Ho  had  pooh-poohed  j;he  idea  at  first,  and  even 
stoutly  refused. 

"No,  no,  can't  think  of  it,  Hammersmith!  You're 
very  kind ;  but  really  I  fear  it  will  do  me  more  harm  than 
good." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Tom,  witli  a 
tinge  of  honest  Roman  indignation. 

Breese  waited  for  a  moment,  looking  at  Tom  the  while 
steadily,  from  his  boots  up.  Tom  felt  a  bit  nervous. 
Then  he  said, — 

"  I'll  tell  you.  I  came  up  here  to  Cambridge  with  a 
definite  purpose,  and,  I  flatter  myself,  with  a  little  enthu- 
siasm and  some  few  ideas  of  my  own.  What  I  fear  is 
that  your  club  will  take  the  enthusiasm  clean  out  of  me, 
and  that  you  fellows  will  interfere  with  my  settled  purpose 
in  coming  here." 

Tom  didn't  understand  him  at  all,  but  looked  out  the 
window  for  relief;  while  Breese  continued,  — 

' '  What  do  3'ou  fellows  do  in  the  club  ?  And  what  is  the 
curse  of  this  college?  The  curse  of  this  place  is  the  lazi- 
ness of  many  of  the  best  minds  in  every  class  ;  or,  perhaps, 
I  should  say  their  lack  of  interest  in  the  curriculum,  which 
even-body  knows  is  narrow  and  old-fashioned  enough ! 
As  to  what  you  fellows  in  the  club  do,  of  course  I  can 
only  judge  from  what  you  tell  me;  but  I  should  imagine 
that  most  of  3-011  don't  know  what  yon  are  talking  about, 
and  the  rest  don't  even  know  what  they  came  up  for." 

Tom  took  this  for  almost  a  personal  insult.  He  was  not 
used  to  plain,  unvarnished  truths.  He  rose,  bowed  slightly 
and  stiffly,  and  said,  — 

"I'm  sure,  Mr.  Breese,  I  beg  pardcn  for  inviting  you  to 


74  HAMMERSMITH  : 

join  such  a  worthless  set  of  fellows.  I  thought  we  knew 
pretty  well  what  we  were  after,  and  were  aiming  for  it. 
But  as  you  say  we  don't,  why,  I  suppose  "  — 

"Sit  down,  sit  down,  Hammersmith!  I  shall  not 
allow  you  to  leave  me  in  this^way.  And  I  really,  on  second 
thought,  shall  be  glad  to  join  you,  if  you  will  take  such 
an  out-and-out  truth-teller  as  I  am,  and  on  the  condition 
that  you  will  try  to  give  up  the  grandiose  style  of  debate 
and  oration,  in  which  I  should  infer  that  you  must  have 
been  indulging,  and  descend  to  things  that  we  all  know 
and  can  talk  about.  If  there's  any  one  thing  settled  in 
this  age,  it  is,  that,  when  a  man  has  any  thing  to  say,  he 
can  say  it  plainly,  effectively,  without  need  of  flourish. 
But  all  the  genius  in  the  world  can't  put  a  soul  under  the 
ribs  of  borrowed  thinking,  or  make  of  parrot-speaking 
any  thing  but  a  travesty." 

They  talked  a  while  longer  on  this  theme,  Breese  warm- 
ing to  his  work,  and  striding  up  and  down  the  room  as  he 
spoke.  And  Tom,  thinking  him  at  first  a  most  deusedly- 
conceited  fellow  (to  put  his  own  thoughts  into  words), 
came  gradually  to  see  a  good  deal  of  sense,  and  what 
struck  Tom  as  original^,  in  Breese 's  way  of  looking  at 
things.  That  he  was  earnest,  and  had  ideas,  there  could 
be  no  doubt. 

The  first  meeting  that  he  attended  was  rendered  a  trifle 
constrained  by  the  knowledge  of  Breese's  peculiar  esti- 
mate of  the  Roman  citizens,  which  Hammersmith,  as 
faithful  envoy-extraordinary,  had  reported.  Breese  sat  in 
the  corner,  with  eyes  half  closed,  the  entire  evening,  never 
speaking,  never  changing  a  muscle.  The  aroused  intellect 
of  '*  The  Forum  "  was  struggling  with  the  question  :  "Did 
the  climate  of  Greece  have  an  appreciable  influence  on  its 
art  and  literature  ?  ' ' 

You  would  have  supposed  that  Breese  was  drinking 
in  every  word  of  the  inspired  orators  as  a  draught  of 


HIS    IIARVAItD    DAYS.  75 

die  spiciest  originality,  so  absorbed  he  appeared  while  the 
young  fellows  laid  down  their  axioms,  or  set  up  their  men 
of  straw  to  knock  them  over.  They  asked  him  at  the  end 
of  the  debate  if  he  would  not  say  something  ;  but  he  shook 
his  head  sadly,  as  though  he  were  the  most  ignorant  man 
in  the  world,  saying,  •'  Xo,  thank  you  :  I  know  very  little 
of  the  subject  under  discussion."  And  Hammersmith,  at 
least,  felt  that  ik  The  Forum  "  was  snub  lied.  Breese,  too, 
seemed  to  feel  that  his  words  might  imply  more  of  a  snub 
than  he  intended  ;  for  he  presently  added.  — 

••  If  you've  nothing  appointed  for  next  meeting,  I  shall 
be  very  happy  to  give  you  a  little  talk,  or  oration  as  }'ou 
perhaps  call  it ;  "  and  he  smiled  very  pleasantly. 

The  offer  was  accepted  ;  and  a  week  later  the  fullest 
''Forum"  of  the  term  convened  to  listen  to  Breese,  who 
electrified  the  astonished  assembly  by  the  downright  ear- 
nestness and  almost  savage  blnntness  of  his  speech.  — • 
probably  the  plainest,  most  practical  speech  to  which 
their  scholar!}'  cars  had  ever  been  treated  in  their  ambi- 
tious club.  Its  length  prevents  its  introduction  in  this 
place  ;  but  its  tenor  may  be  gathered  from  the  concluding 
portion,  given  below.  And,  in  reading  even  this  small 
extract,  it  should  be  remembered  that  Breese's  youthful 
harangue  was  delivered  fully  twenty  years  ago.  when  the 
university  was  slumbering  peacefully,  dreaming  of  the 
fair  groves  of  Academe,  and  not  yet  roused  by  the  strong 
hand  that  guides  her  to-day.  Its  rather  severe  philippic 
character  would  be  quite  out  of  place  under  the  new 
regime  and  the  present  liberal  university  curriculum.  It 
is  presented  as  showing  the  effect  that  the  old  order  of 
things  in  Cambridge  had  upon  a  mind  of  Breese's  order. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  would  do."  continued  Breese, 
by  way  of  peroration,  "if  I  coiud  hold  the  reins  of 
power  here  for  a  da}'  ?  ' ' 

'•  I  would  appoint  a  professor,  and  he  should  be  called 
f 


76  HAMMERSMITH : 

the  Professor  of  Vim.  He  should  have  mixed  literarj 
and  social  duties ;  but,  above  all,  he  should  have  thai 
kindling  enthusiasm  and  sympathy  with  us  fellows,  which 
should  enable  him  to  galvanize  and  fire  all  the  dry  life  of 
this  place  into  a  blaze.  He  should  be  like  Ri enter's  ima- 
ginary tutor  from  Hesperus,  of  '  irrevocable  strictness  and 
order,  sincere  friendship,  good  fellowship,  and  persuasive- 
ness.' We  may  think  involuntaril}-  of  one  or  two  such 
among  our  professors,  as  I  quote.  He  should  be  able  to 
receive  the  ardor  and  emulation  and  scholarly  zeal  of  the 
young  men,  as  the}*  come  crowding  up  here  from  the 
schools,  and  lead  them  to  still  more  glowing  heights, 
kindling  them  with  fires  of  his  own  which  would  outlive 
himself.  He  should  persuade  us  that  sports  are  good  (an 
easy  persuasion),  that  studies  are  good,  that  culture  is 
good,  but  that  the  perfect  citizen,  with  nerves  and  mus- 
cles of  steel,  a  mind  equipped  and  trained  for  every  emer- 
gency, and  a  spirit  informed  with  the  past,  and  alive  to 
the  present  and  the  future,  is  the  highest  product  which 
the  republic  asks  of  the  university  in  these  degenerate 
days. 

"  Why  shouldn't  this  professor  appear,  even  if  he  have 
not  the  new  Vim  Professorship  ?  Why  should  the  chiefest 
college  rivahy  be  among  boating  and  sporting  men? 
Why  —  except  that  their  training  and  contests  are  pres- 
ent, vital  matters,  stirring  to  the  blood,  while  our  class- 
rooms seem  set  up  as  a  sort  of  exhauster,  to  drain  the  sap 
and  life  and  soul  from  the  nineteenth-centur}*  lad,  and 
turn  him  out  a  colorless  imitation  of  a  Greek  or  a  Roman, 
whose  great  men  would  have  shrivelled,  like  him,  under 
like  treatment? 

"If  he  should  come,  this  ideal  professor  or  president, 
i  believe  we  should  see  a  new  era  in  the  life  of  the  uni- 
versity :  it  would  be  the  age  of  vim.  I  believe  we 
should  see  an  end  of  the  paralysis  of  young  graduates, 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  77 

opening  their  eyes  on  their  own  country  and  times  for  the 
first  time,  the  day  they  are  graduated.  I  believe  we 
.should  see  a  new  set  of  leaders  spreading  among  the  peo- 
ple of  the  republic ;  or  rather,  for  I  will  not  be  extrava- 
gant, I  believe  we  should  see  the  habit  of  England  ap- 
pearing among  us,  —  of  England,  where  the  highest  glory 
of  young  men  is  to  be  able  to  serve  their  country  under- 
standingly.  And,  finally,  I  believe  we  should  see  all  of 
our  idle  fellows  up  here  spurred  into  some  sort  of  enthusi- 
asm, upon  however  trivial  a  subject,  and  this  dry-rot  of 
indifference  and  blase  lounging,  this  century's  curse,  come 
to  an  end. 
"  I  thank  you  for  your  attention." 


T8  HAMMERSMITH 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  BUNDLE   OP   LETTERS. 

"  Feelings  come  and  go  like  light  troops  following  the  victory  of  the  present 
but  principles,  like  troops  of  the  line,  are  undisturbed,  and  stand  fast." 

RICHTER 

Mrs.  Hammersmith  to  her  Son  Tom. 

"  Irr  HILL,"  Sunday  Afternoon, 
Jan.  14,  185-. 

MY  DABLLNG  BOY,  —  Your  letter  from  Milton,  dated  the  4th 
of  January,  came  a  few  days  ago.  I  was  very  glad  to  hear  that 
you  passed  the  holidays  pleasantly;  but  you  do  not  know  how  we 
all  missed  you  here  at  Christmas, — the  first  Christmas  that  you 
have  ever  spent  away  from  me,  my  dear  boy.  I  do  not  think  I 
can  forgive  your  friend  Penhallow  for  keeping  you  away  from  us. 
Is  he  a  very  nice  young  man,  that  you  like  him  so  much? 

...  I  suppose  your  studies  do  not  let  you  go  into  Boston  very 
often:  I  remember  your  father  used  to  say  that  it  was  only  a  fast 
kind  of  men  who  were  always  going  over  to  Boston,  running  away 
from  their  recitations,  and  often  spending  a  large  part  of  their 
nights  there.  But  I  will  not  put  such  thoughts  into  your  head. 
I  have  no  doubt  there  are  bad  men  in  your  class,  like  all  others ; 
but  I  trust  and  believe  that  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  them, 
but  cleave  only  to  the  good  young  men  who  will  keep  your  feet  in 
the  right  way. 

• 
Now,  I  have  been  "  lecturing  "  you,  haven't  I?    Your  next  letter 

will  tell  me  so,  and  that  you  are  "all  right,"  as  you  always  do,  and 
will  beg  me  not  to  "  worry."  I  try  not  to ;  but  what  else  have  I  to 
do  but  live  for  you  and  the  children?  And  how  can  I  help  being 
anxious  about  my  great  generous  Tom,  so  far  away,  and  in  the 
midst  of  so  many  temptations?  But  I  will  try  not  to  "worry" 
any  more.  I  trust  you,  Tom. 

There  is  very  little  news  to  send  you.     We  live  on  in  the  same 


HIS  HAKVABD  DAYS.  79 

quiet  way,  and  the  neighborhood  is  entirely  without  incident. 
The  Ruddimans  were  here  till  Christmas,  but  are  in  the  city  now. 
The  young  ladies  are  very  gay,  I  hear ;  and  Mr.  Ruddiman  is  a 
good  deal  worried  about  Bob,  who  is  living  pretty  fast  at  Yale,  I 
fear.  So  I  heard  yesterday  from  Mrs.  Schuyler,  who  was  calling: 
you  used  to  call  her  the  "  Grampus,"  you  bad  boy!  because  she 
blows  so,  going  up  stairs. 

I  am  packing  a  few  things  for  you,  which  I  shall  send  very  soon, 
and  hope  you  may  enjoy.  Mabel  promises  to  write  to  you  before 
long.  SKe  is  growing  so  pretty,  and  has  improved  so  in  her  sing- 
ing !  Mrs.  Schuyler  was  quite  surprised. 

Now  good-by  for  a  while,  my  dear  Tom.  Write  as  soon  as  you 
can  find  the  time,  without  neglecting  your  studies,  which  I  would 
never  have  you  neglect,  except  in  case  of  absolute  necessity.  And 
never  forget  that  you  are  followed,  wherever  you  go,  by  the  prayers 

and  love  of 

Your  affectionate 

MOTHEK. 

P.S.  — Mabel  and  Dick  send  their  love,  and  thank  you  ever  so 
much  for  their  lovely  presents. 

Mr.  Tom  Hammersmith  to  his  Mother. 

CAMBRIDGE,  Feb.  3, 185-. 

DE  AB  MOTHEK,  —  Your  letter  of  inquiry  about  uncle  Gayton 
came  to  me  a  week  ago,  and  I  should  have  answered  it  instanter ; 
but,  fact  is,  I've  had  a  little  accident.  Don't  go  and  worry,  now, 
for  I'm  all  right  again ;  or  how  could  I  be  sitting  here  writing  to 
you?  I  had  a  pretty  narrow  squeak  of  it,  though,  as  you'll  see 
when  I  tell  you  how  it  happened. 

It  was  last  Saturday  afternoon,  and  I  had  been  dining  at  Mrs. 
Fayerweather's.  She's  a  mighty  nice  old  lady,  —  a  little  older 
than  you  are,  —  and  lives  out  near  Mount  Auburn.  Jack  Fayer- 
weather  is  in  my  class.  Well,  you  see  we  had  finished  dinner,  and 
were  playing  a  game  of  billiards  (Jack  and  I),  when  Jack  proposed 
that  we  should  go  up  to  Fresh  Pond  for  some  skating.  So  I  bor- 
rowed a  pair  of  his  brother's  skates,  —  rockers  they  were,  and 
mighty  nice,  —  and  we  started  to  go.  His  sister  Miss  Edith  wanted 
to  go,  though:  so  we  waited  for  her,  and  we-e  driven  over  in  their 
double  sleigh  in  fine  style.  She's  a  mighty  pretty  girl,  no  end  of 

.  accomplishments,  and  goes  out  to  all  the  parties  in  Boston  and 
Cambridge.  I'm  almost  scared  to  talk  to  her,  she  is  such  a  friend 

*  »f  the  seniors  and  juniors.     But  I  shall  never  get  on  at  this  rate. 


80  HAMMERSMITH : 

We  found  a  lot  of  fellows  that  we  knew,  —  Penhallow  and 
Goldie  and  Freemantle,  and  lots  of  others;  and  Miss  Darby  and  a 
pretty  Miss  Summerdale  were  with  Tweedy,  and  a  young  Barlow, 
some  relation  to  Miss  Darby.  Jack  knew  them  all,  and  intro- 
duced me;  and  I  found  myself  sailing  round  with  them,  pretty 
soon,  as  chipper  as  if  we  had  been  friends  all  our  lives.  The 
girls  about  here  skate  mighty  well,  most  of  them;  and  Mabel 
would  be  rather  surprised  to  see  them  doing  the  outward  roll, 
cross-cut  backwards  and  forwards,  and  many  things  I  can  hardly 
do  myself.  And  they  have  such  a  nice  way  of  joining  hands  inside 
their  muffs  with  a  fellow  they're  skating  with:  it's  mighty  nice. 

"Well,  we'd  been  skating  about  a  good  deal,  changing  our  sets 
now  and  then,  getting  very  jolly;  and  as  Goldie  and  most  of  the 
college-men  were  playing  a  game  of  hockey,  rushing  about  like 
mad,  and  knocking  the  ball  in  our  way,  we  went  over  towards  the 
Belrnont  side;  that's  the  west  —  but  then  you  don't  know  it:  so  it 
doesn't  matter.  It  was  quieter  here;  only  some  juniors  cutting 
fancy  figures  on  the  ice,  —  figure-eights,  circles,  initials,  and  so  on: 
so  we  had  a  nice  time.  We  were  skating  the  outward  roll  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  a  quartet,  —  Miss  Darby  and  I  backwards, 
Tweedy  and  Miss  Fayer weather  forwards.  They're  stunning  skat- 
ers, these  two  girls  (young  ladies,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  begin  to 
say);  and  we  were  gliding  along  beautifully,  with  such  a  wide 
swing!  when  a  small  mucker  sang  out,  "  Hullo,  Mister!  ain't  safe 
there!"  I  can  remember  just  how  it  sounded,  and  shall  to  my 
dying-day.  It  was  "  Mishter  "  as  he  said  it.  And  he  had  no  more 
than  got  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  when  I  felt  the  ice  giving 
\mder  me. 

I  stopped  as  short  as  I  could.  Tweedy  pulled  back  with  all  his 
might,  and  he  and  Miss  Fayerweather  didn't  go  in.  But  Miss 
Darby  and  I  had  too  much  momentum ;  and,  before  I  knew  where 
I  was,  I  found  myself  over  my  head  in  the  coldest  water  I  ever 
felt  in  my  life,  Miss  Darby  holding  on  to  me,  and  looking  so  white 
and  scared.  She  behaved  like  a  brick,  though,  or  it  would  have 
been  all  over  with  us  in  a  jiffy.  I  told  her  to  put  her  hands  on 
my  shoulders,  and  she  did  it  without  a  second's  hesitation,  drop- 
ping her  muff  in  the  water;  and  I  went  on  treading  water  as  well 
as  I  could. 

I  won't  keep  you  in  suspense,  though ,  dear  mother,  or  try  to 
tell  you  all  that  I  thought  of  in  those  few  minutes.  You  may  be 
sure  that  I  thought  of  you  and  father,  and  Mabel  and  Dick,  and 
tbout  everybody  in  the  world;  but  I  believe  I  thought  most  ol 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  81 

saving  Miss  Darby,  and  what  the  fellows  would  say  if  I  let  her 
drown,  and  how  the  dear  old  professor  would  be  cut  up.  So  I 
shut  my  teeth,  and  settled  to  it,  keeping  one  arm  under  Miss  Dar- 
by's shoulder,  which  was  trembling  and  shaking  awfully,  and 
striking  out  with  the  other  for  the  ice.  But  it  was  fearfully  brit- 
tle; and  I  no  sooner  clutched  it  than  it  broke  off,  and  I  found 
myself  afloat  again.  It  seemed  an  age  before  help  came,  and  I  was 
about  used  up;  but  Freemantle  and  Goldie,  and  all  the  rest,  came 
sweeping  down  from  the  ice-houses ;  and  Tweedy,  who  had  been 
trying  to  reach  me  by  lying  flat  on  the  ice,  and  extending  his  luu.  J, 
seized  one  of  their  boards,  ran  it  out  towards  me  as  quick  as  a 
flash,  and  crawled  out  to  help  me  on. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  hold  her  up  a  moment  longer,  Hammer- 
smith!" he  shouted;  and,  as  he  spoke,  her  dear  little  head  came 
plumping  down  on  my  shoulder,  eyes  closed,  and  I  thought  it  was 
all  up  with  her.  How  we  managed  to  get  her  out,  and  how  I  got 
out  myself,  I  never  knew  till  afterwards.  I  heard  Tweedy' s  shout, 
and  after  that  was  only  aware  of  several  men  jumping  into  the 
water  by  my  side,  catching  us  both  in  their  strong  arms,  and  strug- 
gling with  us,  while  a  great  shouting  and  hubbub  filled  my  ears. 

The  next  thing  I  knew,  I  opened  my  eyes  on  the  shore,  found 
several  men  rubbing  me  and  kneading  me  like  mad,  and  heard 
them  whispering  anxiously,  "How  is  he?"  "Is  he  breathing 
well?"  "Jove,  how  cold  his  feet  are!"  "Pass  that  towel, 
Breese;"  and  so  on. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  I  asked;  and,  the  next  thing  I  knew,  I  was 
in  my  own  room  in  the  Brattle  House,  which  was  whirling  round 
like  a  top,  a  solemn  old  party  holding  on  to  my  pulse,  and  Pen- 
hallow  turning  up  the  gas  to  throw  some  light  on  the  doctor's 
chronometer-hands. 

But  I  shall  be  exciting  you,  my  dear  mother,  and  I  shall  see 
you  popping  in  at  my  door  some  fine  day,  if  I  do  not  hurry  to  tell 
you  that  I  am  really  all  right  now,  and  as  sound  as  a  trevet.  I 
had  a  pretty  hard  time  for  three  days,  however;  out  of  my  head 
r-'\v  and  then,  the  fellows  say,  and  calling  out  all  night,  "  Where 
is  she?  where  is  she?"  The  fellows  have  been  regular  trumps, 
sitting  by  me,  and  watching  with  me,  day  and  night,  so  I  hear. 
And  some  of  the  tutors  and  professors  have  called  to  see  how  I 
was  getting  on,  — Professor  Darby,  Dr.  Brimblecom,  and,  what 
cut  me  up  worse,  old  Philander  Bone,  the  curious  duck  of  whom 
l?ve  written  to  you,  and  whom  I've  done  nothing  b\?t  laugh  at  in 
his  lecture-room. 


82  HAMMERSMITH : 

You  ask  after  uncle  Gayton.  I  have  seen  nothing  of  him  foi 
weeks.  He  has  sent  me  several  nice  things  during  the  winter, 
and  used  to  run  out  here  occasionally.  I  heard  of  liirn  in  Milton 
on  Christmas,  dining  at  the  Cliffords' :  he  was  sent  for  light  after 
dinner,  however,  and  so  I  didn't  see  him  at  the  childien's  party. 
But  I  had  a  note  from  him,  written  the  very  d;iy  of  mj  accident, 
which  the  fellows  kept  for  me  till  yesterday,  with  the  rest  of  my 
letters;  and  the  dear  old  fellow  is  in  a  peck  of  trouble.  He  says, 
"I'm  in  a  terrible  boggle,  my  dear  Tom;  afraid  I've  got  to  run 
over  to  China.  Long,  Shewshong,  &  Co.,  who  have  my  name  on 
their  paper  to  a  fearful  extent,  are  reported  in  a  very  bad  way. 
They  write  me  that  the  river-war  has  interfered  a  great  deal  with 
their  trade;  but  they  hope  to  pull  through.  You  can't  trust  any- 
body in  this  world,  my  dear  Tom,  and  I  must  go  and  look  into  this 
matter.  Come  and  dine  with  me  Tuesday  evening,  if  you  can  get 
away;  if  not,  send  me  any  commission  you  may  have  for  your 
mother.  I  shall  try  to  see  her  before  I  leave  New  York.  I  leave 
this  Wednesday  morning. 

"  Your  matters  and  your  mother's  are  safe,  I  am  happy  to  say; 
and  I  have  asked  my  lawyers,  Brooks  and  Bates,  both  Harvard 
men  and  good  fellows,  to  honor  your  drafts  to  the  extent  agreed 
upon  between  us  last  year.  Try  not  to  overstep  that  limit;  for  I 
don't  know  just  where  I  shall  bring  up.  God  bless  you,  dear 
Tom!"  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  Isn't  it  a  wild,  sad  kind  of  letter? 
And  now  he's  gone,  and  I  never  saw  him,  or  even  sent  him  a 
single  word.  I  trust  he  has  called  on  you ;  and  yet  I  can  see  how 
anxious  he  would  make  you,  bringing  no  report  of  me. 

The  box  came  safely,  and  I  have  been  luxuriating  in  its  con- 
tents. Haven't  had  time  to  hang  the  pictures  yet,  which  the  fel- 
lows admire  very  much,  especially  the  pheasants  and  the  stag. 
Since  you  ask  me,  I  will  say  that  I  might  have  preferred  a  red 
border  to  my  dressing-gown;  but  the  gray  and  blue  go  very  well 
together.  Imagine  your  beloved  invalid,  arrayed  in  all  its  gor- 
geousness  now,  sitting  in  the  gilded  ruins  of  his  hospital! 

By-by,  now,  my  dear  mother.  You  have  promised  not  to 
worry,  so  you  must  not,  but  remember  how  many  kind  friends  I 
have  about  me,  and  that  I  am 

Always  your  loving 

TOM. 

In  the  long  and  effusive  letter  which  Tom  received  in 
answer  to  the  above,  filled  with  solicitude  and  advice,  and 


HIS   HABVAED  DAYS.  83 

fond,  motherly  imagining,  and  which  he  read  hastily  one 
evening  after  returning  from  a  lark  in  Boston,  — none  too 
beneficial  to  him  in  his  present  state  of  health,  —  was 
enclosed  a  girlish  note  from  Mabel,  from  which  we  quote. 

HOME,  Fob.  17, 18^- 
In  my  room. 

MY  DEAK,  DEAK  TOM,  —  ...  Such  an  awful  thing  has  hap- 
pened 1  I  must  tell  you  of  it.  Bob  Kuddiman  has  been  expelled 
from  college.  Just  think  of  it !  And  how  mortified  his  mother 
and  father  and  sisters  must  be !  He  does  not  seem  to  care  much 
himself,  but  came  out  to  his  house  the  other  day,  with  a  couple  of 
servants,  and  opened  the  house  (it  has  been  closed  all  winter,  you 
know;  only  old  Watson  the  gardener  left  in  charge  of  it);  and 
he  has  several  noisy  boys  staying  with  him.  I  don't  believe  his 
father  knows  it ;  for  they  say  he  was  sent  here  to  study.  And 
they  ride  all  over  the  country  all  the  time,  and  frighten  poor  old 
ladies  and  little  boys  by  pretending  to  ride  over  them ;  and  I  think 
he  is  a  horrid  boy. 

We  have  not  heard  just  how  he  came  to  be  expelled;  but  it  was 
something  about  a  donkey,  —  a  poor  little  innocent  donkey!  — 
which  these  bad  boys  bought  somewhere  in  New  Haven.  And 
they  took  him  into  the  chapel  some  way,  and  tied  him  by  the 
pulpit,  back  of  some  high  seats,  and  they  left  him  there  till  morn- 
ing ;  and  when  the  boys  all  came  in,  and  the  minister  came  in, 
and  he  saw  him,  he  began  to  bray  (the  donkey,  I  mean) ;  and  the 
boys  all  laughed ;  and  the  minister  rebuked  them,  and  told  them 
to  go  to  their  rooms ;  and  they  found  out  that  Bob  and  some  other 
boys  had  brought  the  donkey  there,  and  they  were  all  expelled. 
Wasn't  it  awful  ?  But  I  am  more  sorry  for  the  poor  little  donkey. 
What  do  you  suppose  he  thought  of,  all  night  long,  tied  up  in  the 
dark  chapel,  with  nothing  to  eat  ?  I'm  sure,  if  I  had  been  in  his 
place,  I  should  have  brayed  and  kicked,  and  then  somebody  would 
come  and  let  me  out;  wouldn't  you,  Tom  ?  I  haven't  heard  what 
became  of  the  donkey.  Do  you  suppose  the  president  killed  him, 
T  ">m  ?  He  must  have  been  awfully  mad  at  him.  I  do  not  care 
half  so  much  about  the  other  boys ;  but  xhe  donkey,  I  think,  had 
the  hardest  time  of  them  all.  They  say  he  is  white:  so  Bob  .old 
Dick. 

I  don't  ride  much  now,  of  course:  it's  too  cold,  and  there  is 
too  much  mud  and  snow:  I  get  my  habit  all  draggled.  But  last 
Jail  I  rode  almost  every  afternoon ;  for  I  wanted  to  ride  well  by 


84  HAMMERSMITH : 

Cliristmas,  so  as  to  surprise  you:  but  you  never  came.  But  1  find 
I  like  it  a  great  deal  better  without  the  third  pommel  now,  as  you 
said  I  would ;  but  I  did  not  feel  so  secure  at  first.  I  keep  telling 
Dick  that  he  turns  his  toes  out  too  much  when  he  rides.  But  he 
always  says,  "Oh,  bother!  What  do  I  care  for  style  as  long  as  I 
can  stick  on."  Isn't  he  a  rude  boy  ? 

Haven't  I  told  you  how  I  am  getting  on  in  my  singing  ?  You 
do  not  deserve  to  know;  for  you  never  write  to  me  now,  and  I 
believe  you  are  forgetting  all  about  us.  But  I  am  improving  very 
much,  —  so  mother  says,  —  and  I  like  the  Mendelssohn  songs  so 
much  (oh,  dear!  is  his  name  spelled  right?  I  always  forget), 
only  they  are  very,  very  hard  to  learn ;  but  they  are  easy  when  you 
have  learned  them.  Isn't  that  funny?  I  have  to  get  mother  to 
play  the  accompaniment  in  these  songs,  though  I  play  all  the  rest 
of  my  own  accompaniments.  Mother  likes  the  Scotch  songs  the 
best;  but  I  don't,  only  that  lovely  one,  "And  ye  shall  walk  in 
silk  attire."  I  like  that  ever  so  much;  but  the  minor  passage  is 
pretty  hard  for  me. 

Now  I  have  come  to  the  end  of  my  paper  nearly,  and  I  must  go 
down  and  practise  before  supper.  It  is  snowing  very  hard,  and  I 
hope  we  shall  have  some  good  sleighing  at  last.  Dick  uses  your 
sled  all  the  time  now :  he  says  his  is  getting  too  small  for  him. 
Mother  has  told  you,  probably,  that  uncle  Gayton  left  for  China 
last  week.  He  staid  here  only  two  days;  and  he's  lovely.  I  like 
him  ever  so  much.  He  gave  me  the  sweetest  little  writing-desk  I 
ever  saw,  all  filled  with  every  thing.  I  am  writing  on  it;  but 
I  shall  never  write  you  again  unless  you  answer  this. 

Now  good-by,  my  dear  Tom,  and  write  soon  to 

Your  loving  sister, 

MABEL. 

P.S.  —  I  have  been  reading  this  over.  I  forgot  to  say  that  Bob 
Ruddiman  wears  a  tall  black  hat  now,  and  carries  a  little  cane,  as 
if  he  was  the  biggest  man  in  the  world.  He  talks  about  the  "men 
of  his  class"  too:  so  Dick  says.  Dick  is  quite  disgusted  with  his 
airs,  and  I  am  too.  I  hope  you  do  not  wear  such  a  horrid  big 
shiny  hat,  or  have  such  noisy  friends  as  he  has.  The  way  they 
strut  into  church  is  something  fearful.  Trim  is  well,  and  senda 
his  love  to  you.  We  keep  him  tied  up  a  good  deal  now,  and  he 
barks  whenever  I  speak  to  him  of  you.  I  •tMnk  he  knows  youi 
name. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  85 

Mr.  Tom  Hammersmith  to  his  Sister. 

CAMBRIDGE,  March  2,  185-. 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  SISTEB,  — ...  I  am  sorry  for  Euddiman ;  but, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  never  expected  much  better  things  of  him. 
He  was  always  a  harum-scarum  sort  of  chap;  and  old  Parallax, 
his  tutor  two  years  ago,  told  Pipon  that  Bob  led  hiui  a  dog's  life  at 
"  Grasmere,"  and  he  would  be  glad  to  be  through  his  engagement 
there.  Of  course  there  are  such  kind  of  fellows  in  every  college, 
and  we  have  our  share ;  but  do  not  imagine  that  I  have  much  to 
do  with  them,  or  make  friends  of  them.  Of  course  a  man  has  to 
meet  them  in  class  and  elsewhere,  and  must  be  civil  to  them ;  and, 
if  they  come  to  your  room  and  make  you  a  call,  what  can  a  man 
do  but  trot  out  a  little  something,  and  do  the  polite?  My  particu- 
lar friends  are,  for  the  most  part,  I  may  say,  a  very  steady-going 
set,  and  I  find  many  fellows  that  I  cotton  to  immensely. 

I  laughed  heartily  over  your  tirade  against  beavers  and  canes 
in  general,  and  Ruddiman's  in  particular.  Why,  bless  your  dear 
little  heart  I  we've  all  mounted  beavers  for  nearly  two  months 
now,  your  humble  servant  among  the  rest.  And  as  for  canes, 
hardly  a  man  but  has  a  half-dozen  or  more  of  all  styles,  colors, 
and  weights.  Cave  canem  is  the  chronic  joke;  but  you  won't 
understand  it,  of  course:  ask  Dick  to  translate.  I  don't  go  much 
on  canes,  however;  too  much  bother;  and  a  man  can't  get  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  so  well. 

The  Darbys  and  Fayerweathers,  of  whom  I  have  written  so 
much,  are  very  kind  to  me  all  the  time,  and  it  seems  as  if  they 
could  not  do  enough  for  me.  I  go  to  see  them  now  and  then ;  but 
it  isn't  much  fun:  there  are  always  several  upper-classmen  there, 
ind  we  fellows  stand  no  show  yet:  next  year  it  may  be  different; 
\en  we'll  see! 

Miss  Darby  is  about  again,  as  usual,  but  I  hardly  think  is 
looking  as  strong  as  before  the  accident.  You  should  have  seen 
her  the  first  day  that  I  was  allowed  to  see  her  after  her  illness ! 
I  had  sent  her  flowers  now  and  then,  as  a  sort  of  pleasant  duty, 
and  inquired  often  at  the  door  about  her  progress.  But  this  day, 
when  I  was  ushered  into  the  parlor,  and  saw  her  propped  up  on  a 
glorious  great  sofa,  looking  very  thin  q§d  pale,  but  "  too  pretty  for 
any  thing,"  as  you  young  creatures  say,  I  was  almost  frightened  at 
the  change  and  at  the  brilliance  of  her  eyes.  I  stood  like  a  fool, 
holding  my  hat,  and  bowing,  afraid  to  speak.  But  she  said  quietly, 
"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hammersmith?"  putting  out  her  hand: 


86  HAMMERSMITH : 

and  I  walked  across,  and  took  it,  and  felt  like  crying,  to  feel  how 
wasted  and  crumply  it  was.  But  I  sat  down  near  her,  whore  I 
could  be  in  the  shadow  (the  room  was  quite  dark),  and  found  my 
tongue  to  say  something  or  other. 

"  They  say  that  you  have  been  very  good  and  kind,  Mr.  Ham- 
mersmith;" and  I  mumbled,  "Oh!  it's  nothing,"  or  something 
equally  idiotic,  with  my  eyes  on  the  cretonne  of  the  sofa,  noti- 
cing the  blending  of  the  blue  and  gray  with  the  gown  she  wore, 
and  thinking,  I  remember,  how  well  my  new  dressing-gown 
would  match  the  same  coloring  —  but  I'm  a  fool! 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said,  "to  have  been  such  a  great  trouble  to 
you  and  Mr.  Goldie,  and  the  rest  of  your  kind  friends.  They  say 
that  you  were  kindness  itself:  I  can  believe  it,  and  I  thank  you 
most  sincerely.  I'm  sure,  that,  without  you,  I  should  have  been 
drowned."  And  she  looked  at  me,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been 
drowned.  And  she  thanked  me  for  my  flowers,  and  I  thanked  her 
for  hers;  and  she  said,  "Oh,  no!  they  were  from  mamma."  And 
so  we  got  on  to  the  details  of  the  accident  (though  I  did  not  tell 
her  every  thing),  and  we  were  quite  merry  before  I  left.  And  she 
made  me  change  my  seat  to  where  she  could  see  me ;  and  just  then 
the  door-bell  rang,  and  the  maid  announced,  "  Mr.  Varnum,  Miss 
Ellen."  But  she  said,  "Tell  him  to  excuse  me  to-day:  I'm  not 
"eeling  strong  enough."  And  I  could  have  kissed  the  maid,  or  any- 
body; for  Varnum  is  a  swell  junior;  and  here  he  was,  turned  out 
into  the  cold,  and  your  humble  servant  snugly  ensconced  with  the 
princess,  —  for,  as  I  looked  at  her  at  the  moment,  she  reminded 
me  of  that  Peruvian  princess  called  Euntu,  "the  white  of  an 
egg,"  from  the  whiteness  of  her  complexion;  and  I  often  think  of 
her  now  as  the  princess,  in  consequence. 

But,  as  I  was  saying,  I  don't  go  there  very  often,  because  I'm 
pretty  busy  in  college,  and  there  are  generally  a  good  many  fel- 
lows coming  and  going:  in  fact,  the  very  next  time  I  was  calling, 
I  could  hardly  get  a  word  in  edgewise.  Tweedy  and  Freemantle, 
and  that  odious  little  Fennex,  were  there,  with  some  others ;  and, 
instead  of  talking  with  the  princess,  I  was  put  through  a  chapter 
of-  genealogy  with  an  old  Mrs.  Mai  af right,  or  Malachite,  or  some- 
thing, who  had  driven  out  from  Boston  to  call.  She's  a  powerful 
wagger,  and  seems  to  kno\^nore  of  me  and  my  ancestors  than  I 
do  myself. 

Whatever  you  do  with  your  singing,  my  dear  Mabel,  don't 
screech !  There's  a  young  woman  opposite  my  windows  here,  thai 


HIS  HABVABD  DAYS.  87 

almost  drives  me  wild  with  her  high  notes  every  night.  I  shall 
Bet  the  police  on  her  soon.  It  was  "  Hear  me,  Norma,"  for  an 
hour  last  night,  and  then  a  half-hour's  practice  on  the  tiill,  —  I 
can  hear  it  yet!  Ever  your  affectionate  brother, 

TOM. 

I  am  afraid  that  I  am  always  forgetting  mother's  injunction 
about  using  slang  words.  I  have  been  looking  over  this  letter, 
and  find,  that,  as  usual,  a  great  many  have  slipped  off  my  pen;  but 
it  is  a  very  difficult  thing  to  avoid,  the  men  all  talk  slang  so  much, 
and  a  man  hears  it  abouc  him  continually,  from  morning  till  night. 
Some  men  affect  it  more  than  others ;  and  I  have  heard  a  couple 
of  fellows  talking  for  an  hour  together  in  such  a  jargon  that  you 
could  not  have  the  least  idea  what  they  were  talking  about,  my 
dear  little  sweet-singing  Mabel.  I  think  you  can  make  out  most 
of  my  slang  in  this  letter,  though.  Many  men  argue  that  it  is  so 
expressive,  this  slang,  that  it  ought  to  be  generally  introduced  in 
society;  but  I  can  hardly  believe  it:  it  must  make  a  man  very 
poor  in  speech,  by  confining  him  always  to  a  few  phrases  and 
words.  It's  mighty  jolly,  though.  Love  to  mother  and  Dick. 

Tours,  Ten. 


88  HAMMEESMITH : 


CHAPTER  VII. 

EXHIBITING   A   LION-HUNTER   AND   HIS   DEN. 

"  Hold  the  cuppe,  good  felow,  here  is  thyne  and  myne."  —  ANDREW  BOBDB 
The  Fyrst  Boke  of  the  Introduction  of  Knowledge,  1500. 

"  II  faut  quo  tous  les  sujets  eoient  persuades  que  vous  ne  doutez  de  rien  el 
|ue  rien  nc  peut  vous  6tonner." —  FEEDEEIC  THE  GBEAT. 

SUCH  letters  passed  between  the  anxious,  doting 
mother  and  the  fond  sister  on  one  hand,  and  Mr.  Tom, 
the  jroung  debutant,  on  the  other. 

Simple,  pathetically  simple,  loving  letters  !  There  was 
the  mother,  following  the  boy  continually  with  her  pra3rers 
and  hopes,  as  she  had  written,  and  wishing  all  good  things 
of  him ;  and  little  Mabel,  who  was  growing  into  a  fine 
young  maiden,  looking  upon  her  brother's  life  in  Cam- 
bridge, and  among  grand  people,  as  a  bit  of  romance 
rather  than  sober  reality,  —  a  view  of  his  career  which 
that  imaginative  young  gentleman  did  not  fail  to  increase 
by  adding  a  certain  rosy  halo  to  his  account  of  the  men 
and  exploits  and  new  wonders  about  him.  And  Mr.  Tom  ? 
"Well,  he  was  not  unmindful  of  the  tender  solicitude  and 
anxious  pleading  of  his  mother,  or  insensible  to  the  quiet 
influence  of  his  fond  sister's  girlish  home-letters. 

If  he  often  read  these  domestic  outpourings  somewhat 
hurriedly,  just  before  running  down  to  see  the  'Varsity  come 
swinging  up  to  the  boat-house  of  an  evening,  or  in  the 
intervals  of  dressing,  or  at  any  odd  moments  which  he 
could  find,  he  often  sat  a  long  while  brooding  over  their 
affectionate  contents  alone  in  his  room,  with  so  many 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  89 

reminders  of  the  dear  home  about  him,  calling  him  back 
to  his  early  boj-ish  days.  And  he  made  many  of  the  best 
of  resolutions,  and  vowed  that  he  would  "cut"  this  ac- 
quaintance, and  cultivate  that,  attend  more  systematically 
to  his  study-hours  (a  list  of  which  he  had  mapped  out,  and 
hung  conspicuous  on  his  bedroom-door) ,  try  not  to  smoke 
too  much ,  and  in  every  way  be  worthy  of  himself  and  the 
tender  souls  who  expected  so  much  of  him,  and  so  confi- 
dently. 

He  had  not  much  to  reproach  himself  with,  to  be  sure. 
Many  a  jroung  man  who  had  come  up  as  innocent  and 
ingenuous  as  he  had  fallen  into  evil  courses  long  before 
this,  and  was  drifting  where  we  hope  Mr.  Tom  may  never 
be  found.  Many  who  were  vastly  better  prepared,  and 
had  eclipsed  him  earlier  in  the  year,  were  dropping  behind  ; 
and  Mr.  Tom  had  discovered  that  his  natural  talents  were 
such,  that  he  hardly  needed  to  exert  himself  to  maintain  a 
good  average  position  in  the  class.  But  was  a  merely 
average  place  all  that  was  expected  of  him  ?  And  would 
the  fond  soul  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  or  his  sainted 
father  if  he  could  return  to  the  scenes  of  his  youthful 
triumphs,  be  satisfied  with  this? 

A  truthful  biographer  is  obliged  to  own  that  Mr.  Tom's 
maximum  examination1  in  Greek  in  the  first  term  was 
something  not  soon  repeated  in  his  academical  career.  It 
was  but  a  brief  lease  of  fame  which  that  had  brought  him. 
The  scholarly  fraternity  which  had  received  him  as  a  new 
light  among  them  gradually  began  to  shake  their  heads 
over  him  as  a  doubtful  problem.  "  The  Forum,"  which 
had  been  the  rallying-point  for  Mr.  Tom  and  others  in 
their  more  ardent  days,  was  no  longer  frequented  as 
before.  The  Roman  people  had  fled,  or  returned  fewer 
and  fewer  as  the  days  went  by,  shouting  the  louder  as 
their  numbers  grew  less,  like  their  namesakes  of  the 
*  shabby  toga  on  the  modern  stage.  Breese's  philippic  had 


90  HAMMERSMITH : 

called  forth  several  spirited  speeches  at  the  next  meeting, 
chief  among  which  was  a  defence  by  Pinckney  of  titf 
world  in  general  as  it  is,  and  the  maintenance  of  exist- 
ing institutions.  But  we  can  hardly  expect  to  spread  the 
minutes  of  all  their  meetings  upon  these  pages,  or  do 
more  than  record  its  gradual  decline,  until  it  expired 
before  "the  tremendous  coming"  (as  Leigh  Hunt  says 
of  De  Stael)  of  "  The  Institute  of  1770,"  and  other  socie- 
ties of  succeeding  years. 

The  last  letter  from  Tom  to  Mabel,  which  we  have  seen, 
and  which  put  that  young  girl  in  quite  a  "  twitter  of 
excitement,"  with  its  graphic  account  of  Tom's  experi- 
ence in  Cambridge,  was  tying,  scarcely  dry,  on  Tom's 
table.  Mabel's  ingenuous  little  letter,  with  its  sprawling, 
schoolgirl  hand,  and  laborious  flourishing  of  capitals,  lay 
open  beside  it.  The  mother's  long  letter,  in  which  Miss 
Mabel's  had  come  enclosed,  Mr.  Tom  held  in  his  hand,  as 
he  la}r  stretched  on  his  sofa,  winking  at  the  gaslight,  and 
listening  to  the  wind,  which  went  roaring  about  the  Brattle 
House,  tossing  a  whirl  of  snow  against  his  window,  and 
then  moaning  off  across  the  square.  He  expected  no  visit- 
ors :  it  was  too  wild  a  night.  So  he  had  devoted  the  even- 
ing, as  we  have  seen,  to  his  affectionate  little  sister,  and 
was  lying  now  in  the  attitude  of  meditative  Dumas  on  his 
Mediterranean  yacht,  allowing  himself  to  be  borne  along 
by  white-winged  thoughts  of  his  mother  and  sister,  and 
his  boyish  ideals,  pondering,  in  a  troubled  lad's  way,  on 
the  mixed  good  and  evil  of  every-day  life,  as  man}-  a 
youngster  has  pondered  before  and  since.  Is  the  problem 
ever  quite  solved  ? 

A  soft  footstep  in  the  passage,  a  double  knock  at  his 
door,  with  a  furious  stamping  of  snowy  feet,  Tom's 
"Come  in!  "  and  a  young  man  enters  whom  Tom  has 
several  times  met  in  Cambridge,  bit  who  had  never  before 
enter  ad  his  rooms. 


HIS  HARVABD  DAYS.  91 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Tufton,  how  do  you  do?  You're  very  coura- 
geous to-night!  " 

"How  do,  how  do,  Hammersmith?  I  confess  I'd  no 
idea  it  was  snowing  and  blowing  so  furiously.  My  rooms 
face  south,  }^ou  know.  Jove,  I  was  nearly  blown  off  my 
legs,  crossing  the  square !  Gimlet  collided  with  me,  and 
I  thought  I  had  run  into  the  meeting-house.  But  the  old 
buffer  put  me  on  my  pins,  and  strode  off  to  toast  his  toes 
in  the  police-station.  You're  very  snug  here,  by  Jove  !  " 

"Yes,  rather.  Throw  off  your  overcoat,  won't  you? 
Put  your  shoes  in  here."  And  Tom  unwound  from  him  an 
immense  coat,  which  reached  to  his  heels,  and  helped  him 
off  with  his  overshoes,  opening  to  view,  when  he  was  thus 
peeled,  a  most  gorgeous  young  man  in  velvet  shooting- 
jacket,  with  curious  linen  unconscious  of  snow-storms, 
and  a  waistcoat  sporting  a  marvellous  cable  watch-chain 
and  bunch  of  charms,  which  made  music  as  he  stepped 
across  to  a  loungiug-chair,  and  filled  himself  a  pipe. 

There  was  a  quiet  accommodation  in  his  manner  which 
put  them  both  at  their  ease  at  once,  and  might  have  been 
prophesied,  if  one  had  but  known  Mr.  Tufton's  long 
practice  in  the  graceful  art  of  lounging. 

The  3Toung  men's  conversation,  as  they  sat  smoking, 
and  toasting  their  feet  before  a  glowing  fire,  is  not  espe- 
cially worthy  of  transcript  in  this  place.  It  was  rambh'ng 
and  leisurely,  gossipy  and  merry,  turning  on  Tom's  acci- 
dent and  convalescence,  the  chances  of  the  new  'Varsity 
crew,  with  Wayland  gone,  the  glories  of  the  French  opera, 
then  performing  to  crowded  houses  in  Boston,  and  the 
thousand  and  one  things  that  were  current  about  them 
The  object  of  Mr.  Tufton's  visit  was  not  made  known  for 
a  while :  he  was  too  skilful  a  diplomate  not  to  conceal  his 
real  intention  under  a  pretence  of  mere  sociability,  and 
anxiety  for  Tom's  state  of  health,  —  a  state  of  health 
which  all  Cambridge  knew,  and  for  which  they  sympathized, 


92  HAMMERSMITH : 

while  admiring  his  pluck  and  enviable  glory  in  the  Fresh 
Pond  mishap. 

It  was  only  as  Tufton  was  laying  aside  his  pipe,  many 
times  refilled  during  the  evening,  and  was  concluding  an 
account  of  his  escapade  with  some  friends  behind  the 
scenes  at  the  Boston  Theatre,  that  he  said  rather  casual- 

iy»- 

"  Oh !  by  the  way,  I'm  going  to  have  a  h'ttle  supper  in 
my  rooms  Friday  night.  Friend  of  mine  from  New  York 
is  on,  and  I  want  to  introduce  him  to  some  of  the  men. 
Shall  hope  to  see  you,  Hammersmith.  I've  asked  some 
of  your  friends,  and  I  think  you'll  enjoy  meeting  my 
friend  Crosby.  Eight  o'clock,  punc. ;  some  of  the  men 
may  want  to  go  off  to  Boston  afterwards.  I  can  depend 
on  you?  " 

Tom  accepted  the  invitation  with  thanks,  feeling  no 
little  pride  at  being  singled  out  by  Tufton,  whose  fame  as 
a  "  gold-bug,"  and  a  giver  of  select  little  entertainments, 
was  widespread  in  Cambridge  halls.  Men  had  been 
known,  indeed,  to  resort  to  many  devices  and  much  wily 
intrigue  to  get  a  footing  in  his  comfortable  good  graces, 
and  a  seat  at  his  table.  But  our  friend  Tom  was  spared 
this  devious  method.  Mr.  Tufton  was  a  lion-hunter,  and 
with  the  profound  instinct  of  that  entire  social  species, 
which  detects  the  coming  roar  from  afar,  he  had  divined, 
from  various  dim  prognostics  known  to  the  fraternity,  and 
especially  from  his  late  heroism  with  "the  ladies," — as 
Mr.  Tufton  always  called  the  sex,  —  that  Mr.  Torn  was  a 
young  lion-cub  in  leading-strings  as  yet,  whom  he  would 
do  well  to  capture  for  his  collection. 

Mr.  Tufton  was  not  a  member  of  the  university,  a  grad- 
uate, a  man  of  business,  nor  yet  a  candidate  from  the 
schools,  up  studying  in  Cambridge.  He  was  of  that  mys- 
terious order  of  men,  who  come  from  nowhere,  do  nothing, 
and  appear  to  be  going  nowhere,  —  a  fungus-growth  which 


HIS   HARVABD  DAYS.  93 

every  university  town  develops.  His  money  seemed  abun- 
dant ;  his  rooms  were  gorgeous  in  a  young  man's  eye  ;  he 
gave  the, most  select  of  suppers  ;  he  dressed  faultlessly. 

Legends  ran  that  he  had  tried  several  times  to  enter 
one  class  after  another ;  but,  not  even  his  golden  key 
sufficing  to  open  the  college  oak  to  him,  he  was  now  liv- 
ing on  in  a  princel}*  independence,  enjoying  the  droppings 
from  the  sanctuary  in  the  sense  of  much  vicarious  educa- 
tion absorbed  from  his  student-guests,  and  surrounded 
with  the  halo  of  vast  success  in  knowing  the  world.  He 
was  liberal  with  his  money  too ;  and  whether  it  was  a 
struggling  cricket-club,  or  an  impecunious  boat-club  (both 
proverbial  for  being  without  the  sinews  of  war),  a  class 
subscription,  or  the  lesser  demand  of  a  hack  for  a  student- 
journey  into  some  doubtful  limbo,  Tufton's  name  was 
sure  to  be  found  on  the  list,  often  heading  it  with  a  good 
round  sum. 

He  distributed  invitations  to  his  feasts  ;  and  Sam  Mala- 
chite and  men  of  his  bibulous  kind  were  captured.  He 
presented  a  set  of  oars,  the  newly  invented  "  spoons,"  to 
the  'Varsity ;  and  even  the  great  "Way land  was  brought 
over.  He  contributed  largely  to  the  assemblies  ;  and  the 
dancing  set,  Glidewell,  and  the  rest  of  the  nimble-footed, 
were  his  friends,  as  well  as  the  fair  partners  with  whom 
he  was  made  acquainted,  and  whom  he  whirled  rather  un- 
steadily over  the  waxed  floor.  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Tufton, 
that  was  a  very  nice  turn,"  sa3*s  a  breathless  3'oung  dancer, 
subsiding  into  her  seat  in  a  cloud  of  tulle,  but  confiding 
to  her  neighbor,  as  he  moves  away  complacently,  that  he's 
a  "  frightful  dancer,"  trod  on  her  feet  ever  so  many  times, 
"  and  he  guides  so  poorly !  " 

"With  such  judicious  application  of  coin  of  the  realm, 
with  a  careful  eye  to  signs  of  the  social  weather,  and  an 
instinctive  selection  of  the  coming  man  and  the  rounds 
of  his  ladder,  Tufton  succeeded  in  surrounding  himself 


94  HAMMEKSMETH : 

with  much  of  the  gayest  and  most  conspicuous  life  of  the 
university  and  the  neighborhood,  if  not  the  most  desirable 
or  refined.  But  when  Boston,  —  where  Mr.  Tufton  spent 
a  large  part  of  his  leisure  in  various  ways  needless  to  men- 
tion, latterly  under  the  able  leadership  of  Mr.  Sam  Mala- 
chite,—  when  Boston  asked  its  usual  questions,  "  Who  is 
he?  Who  was  his  mother?"  questioned  humanity  was 
obliged  to  shake  its  head,  dubious.  Unless,  to  be  sure, 
some  pampered  champion  of  his  were  present,  like  Mr. 
Sam,  to  declare  that  he  didn't  care,  Tufton  gave  mighty 
nice  suppers,  any  way,  and  had  lots  of  money,  —  "  rocks," 
I  am  afraid  Sam  would  say ;  when,  of  course,  the  city  re- 
signed itself  with  a  sigh. 

Thus  mysterious  were  Tufton' s  origin,  his  belongings, 
his  ways  of  life,  except  to  the  happy  few ;  and  so  was 
even  the  preparation  of  the  marvellous  little  suppers  to 
which  these  happy  few  sat  down,  and  which  could  hardly 
have  been  concocted  in  the  modest  cuisine  of  his  board- 
ing-house,—  that  would  have  been  as  great  a  marvel  as 
the  celebrated  moon-gun  of  Bergerac's,  which  shot,  killed, 
plucked,  roasted,  and  seasoned  its  birds,  all  at  once.  Out- 
siders gradually  settled  into  the  belief  that  his  suppers 
were  prepared  in  a  neighboring  restaurant  by  a  deputation 
of  cooks  from  Parker's,  detailed  at  enormous  expense. 
Certain  it  was  that  various  well-known  waiters  from  that 
popular  house  were  on  hand  on  these  occasions,  opening 
iced  champagne  in  the  passage-way,  coming  and  going 
with  dishes,  ultimately  removing  the  debris,  together  with 
the  last  sleepy  reveller,  and  preparing  the  rooms  for  Mr. 
Tufton' s  morrow  of  lounging. 

To  come  to  more  personal  matters,  Mr.  Tufton,  in 
manners  and  dress,  was  almost  faultless,  if  we  may  ex- 
cuse an  occasional  splendor  of  raiment  not  ver}r  common 
with  him,  and  a  certain  restrained  care  in  his  conversa- 
tion and  mien,  which  would  pass  with  the  more  observant 


HIS  HAEVARD  DAYS.  95 

as  diplomacy.  He  had  the  smooth,  broadcloth  manners 
of  a  practised  gambler,  never  giving  away  to  excitement, 
and  coolly  watchful  where  others  have  lost  their  heads. 
No  one  had  ever  heard  him  laugh  a  hearty  laugh ;  and  his 
ordinary  talk  was  of  that  subdued,  appropriative  kind, 
which  so  flatters  Mm  to  whom  it  is  addressed,  as  though 
he  were  hearing  things  too  private  for  common  ears. 

Dominique  Busnot,  historian  of  Muley  Ismael,  records 
of  that  monarch,  that  his  prevailing  temper  might  be 
learned  from  the  color  of  the  garments  which  he  wore,  as 
well  as  from  his  complexion.  "  Green  is  his  darling 
color,  which  is  a  good  omen  for  those  that  come  to  him ; 
but,  when  he  wears  yellow,  all  men  quake,  and  avoid  Ms 
presence  ;  for  that  is  the  color  he  puts  on  when  he  designs 
some  bloody  execution."  Tufton  was  not  the  fool  to 
show  his  hand  in  tMs  autocrat's  way:  he  was  not  yet 
monarch,  and  no  man  should  know  what  was  passing  in 
that  cool  brain,  underneath  that  carefully-tended  blonde 
hair.  So  that,  although  he  certainly  paid  incessant  homage 
to  the  "  clothes-devil,"  as  the  old  theologians  called  the 
toilet,  and  postured  long  of  a  morning  before  a  mirror, 
swinging  above  a  vast  collection  of  preparative  bottles,  — 
eau  de  cologne,  Macassar,  bear's  grease,  and  the  like,  — 
the  result  was  quite  satisfying.  He  issued  from  Ms  dress- 
ing-room, radiant,  scrupulously  neat,  never  indicating  the 
last  night's  carouse  by  the  slightest  sign,  and  dressed  in 
colors  so  subdued  and  neutral,  that  men  wondered,  when 
they  knew  Ms  ample  wardrobe,  and  Ms  long  semi-annual 
bill  at  Van  Nason's.  They  wondered,  also,  at  Ms  modest 
scarfs  and  pins,  when  they  had  been  permitted  a  sight  of 
the  marvellous  array  of  neck  adornments  and  curious 
pins  which  garnished  his  toilet-table. 
.  -  "  Oh !  I  bought  all  those  when  I  was  young  and  green. 
A  gentleman  oughtn't  to  wear  flashy  tMngs,  or  too  much 
jewelry,"  he  would  say,  smiling  one  of  Ms  inexplicable 


96  HAMMERSMITH : 

smiles  ;  and  the  young  men  felt,  what  a  deal  of  life  that 
man  must  have  seen ! 

It  was  such  a  host  as  this  who  came  forward  to 
welcome  Hammersmith  on  the  Friday  night  set  for  the 
supper,  as  Mr.  Tom  was  admitted  by  an  elaborate  flunky 
into  the  brilliantly-lighted  rooms. 

"  How  do,  how  do,  Mr.  Hammersmith  ?  You  are  quite 
fashionably  late." 

"Ah!  I'm  sorry,  I"- 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  don't  speak  of  it !  others  to  come 
yet."  And,  whispering  in  Tom's  ear,  he  walked  with  him 
to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  introduced  him  to  a 
rakish  young  man,  with  the  whitest  of  complexions  and 
the  blackest  of  mustaches. 

"  Crosby,  this  is  m}' friend  Hammersmith.  Mr.  Ham- 
mersmith, Mr.  Crosby.  I've  been  telling  Crosby  of  }Tour 
adventure  with  the  ladies,  you  sly  dog !  "  and,  whispering 
the  last  sentence  in  Tom's  ear,  Tufton  moved  off  to 
receive  Varnum  and  Glidewell,  who  came  in  together,  leav- 
ing Tom  and  Crosby  to  skirmish  on  over  the  few  topics 
that  they  had  in  common. 

The  rooms  were  tolerably  full  by  this  time ;  and  Tom, 
looking  around  him,  found  that  he  was  in  the  companj*  of 
many  of  the  fashionable  set,  a  few  of  the  boating  set, 
several  of  the  very  fast  set,  with  but  three  of  his  own  class, 
—  Freemantle,  Pinckney,  and  Penhallow, — -to  whom  he 
nodded  with  a  sense  of  relief,  as  they  sat  or  stood  here 
and  there,  in  conversation  with  upper-classmen,  and  show- 
ing their  new  dignity  in  a  certain  stiffness  of  manner  un- 
usual to  them.  For  it  was  the  first  of  Tufton's  suppers  to 
which  freshmen  of  this  year  had  been  invited ;  and  the 
four  present  knew  it,  and  felt  important  in  consequence. 

There  were  easy-chairs  and  sofas  on  every  side,  on 
which  resplendent  youth  were  lounging,  several  of  them 
smoking  huge  meerschaum  pipes  absorbedly :  they  were 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  97 

sophomores,  perennial  smokers,  —  before,  during,  after, 
meals !  And  if  the  racing  prints  and  flashy  pictures  of 
ballet-dancers  on  the  walls,  and  the  meagre  bookcase  next 
the  fireplace,  showed  Mr.  Tufton  to  be  far  from  ft  student 
of  high  art  and  profound  letters,  the  general  aii  of  rich- 
ness, the  cose}'  window-seats,  the  pretty  jardinieres  filled 
with  flowers,  and  the  profusion  of  red  curtains,  through  a 
pair  of  which  the  lights  on  the  supper-table  were  just 
visible,  proclaimed  him  a  man  of  luxurious  habits  and  a 
graceful  knack  at  arrangement. 

Tom  was  looking  about  him,  and  admiring  the  rich 
appointments,  the  absorbed  sophomores  pulling  at  their 
pipes,  and  the  quaint  ornaments  of  the  mantel,  when 
Tufton  returned  to  him,  and,  taking  his  arm,  introduced 
him  to  the  men  with  whom  he  was  unacquainted.  Mr. 
Tom  felt  queerly  when  he  grasped  the  hand  of  Fennex, 
he  of  the  biggest  pipe,  who  rose,  bowed,  and  shook 
hands,  without  a  smile  ;  and  was  proud  when  Varnum  and 
Glidewell  asked  after  his  health ;  and  was  merry  almost, 
when  his  own  classmates  gave  him  hearty  grips,  and 
beamed  upon  him. 

A  waiter  enters,  and  whispers  to  Tufton,  who  nods ; 
and  the  next  instant  the  red  curtains  are  drawn.  Tufton 
says,  — 

"  Gentlemen,  will  you  walk  in?  "We're  all  here,  I 
believe.  Varnum,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  take  the 
other  end  of  the  table  ?  —  Crosby,  here  at  my  right.  — 
Hammersmith,  will  3*ou  sit  here?"  and  he  touched  the 
chair  on  his  left.  "  Sit  down  anywhere,  gentlemen,  and 
make  yourselves  at  home  ;  "  and  the  men,  fourteen  in 
number,  of  all  classes,  settled  into  their  seats,  and  squared 
themselves  for  the  feast. 

,  •  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  follow  the  young  gentlemen 
through  the  various  courses  and  the  increasing  merri- 
ment of  the  supper.  Anybody  who  has  sat  down  at  a 


98  HAMMERSMITH : 

supper  like  Mr.  Tufton's,  with  a  dozen  healthy  youngster! 
in  the  growing  time  of  life,  knows  what  it  means. 

You,  gentle  readers,  who  do  not  know  it,  may  better 
rest  in  your  ignorance,  and  continue  to  imagine  these 
feasts  a  miniature  copy  of  the  formal  banquets  at  which 
you  have  been  sandwiched  between  these  young  gentle- 
men in  their  later  years,  when  their  appetites  are  less, 
and  their  cares  are  more,  and  they  are  thinking  of  that 
note  due  to-morrow,  and  whether  Smith  will  foreclose 
his  mortgage,  and  how  their  girls  shall  be  put  to  school 
if  he  does.  Alas !  these  cares  are  a  woful  curtailer  of 
the  zests  of  boj-hood  ;  and  the  gentleman  in  white  tie  by 
your  side,  nibbling  at  a  bit  of  salmon,  is  not  quite  the 
same  young  part}7  who  made  such  havoc  about  him  at 
Tufton's  on  that  night  and  many  other  nights,  —  more 'a 
the  pity ! 

Cigars  had  been  brought  in ;  stories  and  songs  wero 
going  about;  Fennex  and  Malachite  were  becoming  a  bit 
uproarious ;  and  you  could  scarcely  see  across  the  roo.m 
for  the  smoke.  Tufton,  who  smoked  but  little,  though 
of  the  best,  pushed  his  chair  back,  and  finally  left  the 
table,  with  a  few  others,  Tom  among  the  number,  telling 
the  rest  to  follow  or  not  as  they  chose.  The  old  habitues 
knew  his  custom,  and  that  he  only  left  because  he  could 
not  stand  the  cigar-smoke  ;  it  Was  quite  in  rule  to  remain 
But  the  freshmen,  all  except  Penhallow,  who  was  at  the 
far  end  of  the  table,  followed  their  host  into  the  front- 
room.  He  dropped  the  curtains,  and,  relighting  his  cigar, 
sank  into  an  eas3*-chair  near  the  fire,  while  the  others 
made  themselves  at  home  where  they  chose. 

"This  is  liberty  hall,  Hammersmith:  do  just  as  you 
liang  please.  I  keep  my  door  always  open,  and  some 
pretty  fair  cigars  and  wine  ;  and  I  tell  my  friends,  that,  if 
they  don't  enjoy  themselves,  it  isn't  my  fault. — Eh, 
Glidewell?  —  You're  not  smoking,  Hammersmith.  Pipe, 
or  cigar?" 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  99 

"  Think  I'll  try  a  pipe,"  said  the  young  fool,  who  had 
never  had  a  stem  in  his  mouth  in  his  life. 

"  There's  a  favorite  brierwood  of  mine  next  the  clock. 
Xo,  the  other.  Sorry  my  tobacco's  so  dry:  j-ou'll  find 
the  best  in  that  jar." 

Mr.  Tom  made  several  attempts,  and  finally  got  his 
pipe  to  go,  and  then  wished  he  had  taken  a  cigar  instead, 
but  held  on  pluckily,  and  felt  the  room  go  round,  till  coffee 
was  brought  in,  and  he  changed  his  pipe  for  a  cigar,  and 
felt  better. 

"  How's  the  crew  practising,  Perkins?"  asked  the  host, 
after  some  rambling  talk. 

"  Oh,  fairly  !  Dumb-bells  and  clubs  mighty  slow  work, 
though,  after  the  river.  Robbins  is  a  perfect  bulldog  for 
a  bow,  too.  Jove  !  how  he  keeps  us  at  it !  " 

"Think  "Witherspoon  will  make  as  good  a  stroke  as 
"Wayland?"  asked  Freemantle. 

"It's  hard  to  say  till  we  see  how  we  can  work  with 
him.  He  has  a  quick  recover,  a  very  quick  recover.  We 
onl}*  pulled  behind  him  three  or  four  times  last  fall,  and 
had  pretty  hard  work  to  recover  with  him.  Robbins 
thinks  we  can  pick  it  up,  though.  B}7  the  way,  weren't 
you  in  the  crew  that  we  nearly  swamped  that  windy  day 
last  fall,  Hammersmith?  " 

"  Yes  :  I  was  pulling  bow  for  the  second  crew,  and  got 
the  tiller-ropes  twisted.  Robbins  steered  you  away  from 
me  beautifully,  or  our  old  lap  would  have  had  a  bump." 

"  Are  you  going  into  rowing?  "  asked  Tufton.  "  You 
pull  a  very  good  stroke,  Hammersmith." 

"I  don't  know:  I  haven't  thought  much  about  it," 
said  Tom.  "  They  want  me  in  my  class  crew  ;  but  I  don't 
fcnow  if  I  can  spare  the  time." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?  study?"  asked  Tufton. 
turning  on  his  elbow,  and  smiling  curiously  at  Tom. 

"Oh!  I  don't  know:  perhaps  so,  a  little,"  answered 


100  HAMMERSMITH : 

he,  feeling  the  force  of  Tuftou's  sardonic  smile,  but  despis- 
ing  himself  the  next  minute  for  speaking  as  he  did. 

"•  Well,  that'll  do  for  a  while.  You'll  soon  get  over  it, 
eh,  fellows?  They're  all  taken  the  same  way  at  first. 
But  I  used  to  see  }rou  very  often  last  fall  on  the  river. 
Where  did  you  learn  }-our  stroke?  " 

"  I  picked  it  up  about  home,  — the  North  River.  I  used 
to  see  the  Pinto  brothers  practising  quite  often  ;  and  one 
of  'em  gave  me  a  little  coaching  last  spring." 

"  Ah,  ha!  I  thought  so.  I  said  to  Curtis  and  several 
other  fellows  last  fall,  —  the  day  you  came  in  with  Goldie 
as  stroke, — that  }-ours  was  no  freshman's  stroke,"  said- 
Tufton,  looking  admiringly  at  Tom. 

Tom  reddened,  and  felt  the  rest  looking  at  him ;  and 
Glidewcll  said  he  didn't  see  how  men  could  go  on  wearing 
themselves  out  in  boats,  and  submitting  to  be  bullied  by  a 
beastly  little  bow,  and  going  through  the  tortures  of — well, 
of  training,  just  to  win  a  beastly  little  pewter  cup ;  and 
Perkins  asked  him  if  it  wasn't  about  as  manly  as  swelter- 
ing in  a  ball-room,  and  dancing  yourself  black  and  blue  in 
the  face,  all  for  the  sake  of  a  beastby  little  ribbon,  or  a  two- 
cent  star  on  your  coat;  and  Glidewcll  said,  "  Oh,  that's 
different !  "  in  which  nobody  denied  him  ;  and  Crosby  was 
asked  what  was  the  news  from  New  York,  and  answered 
that  ' '  every  thing  was  lovely, ' '  which  was  received  as  con- 
clusive :  and  so  these  learned  young  men  prattled  on,  from 
one  light  subject  to  another ;  and  the  party  in  the  supper- 
room  grew  more  hilarious  as  their  songs  grew  more  numer- 
ous and  confused. 

A  tremendous  crash  was  heard  on  a  sudden  ;  and  Tufton 
\\  ilked  quietly  to  the  curtains,  and  drew  them  apart.  If 
there  was  one  thing  at  which  he  rebelled,  it  was  a  sudden 
noise.  An  enemy  might  say  that  he  was  afraid  of  some- 
thing, say,  a  sudden  grasp  of  a  policeman  on  the  shoulder  ' 
but  Tufton  said  he  hated  noises  worse  than  the  devil,  am' 
always  had. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  101 

Tom  was  near  the  curtains,  and,  with  reprehensible 
though  quite  natural  curiosity,  stood  up  by  Tufton  as  he 
looked  in. 

It  will  not  be  well  for  us  to  look  in  over  Mr.  Tom's 
shoulder  at  the  disgraceful  orgy  which  met  his  gaze.  It 
will  be  better  to  drop  the  red  curtains  again,  and  shut  out 
the  scene  from  your  bright  eyes,  my  dear  Bulbul,  who 
would  be  quite  horrified  at  some  of  the  practices  of  these 
"  sweet"  young  men  that  you  have  met  in  the  gay  routs 
of  the  neighborhood. 

The  declamatory  sophomore,  standing  unsteadily  on  a 
chair,  and  haranguing  the  chandelier  with  a  maudlin  itera- 
tion of  Quousque  tandem  abutere,  candelabra,  patientia 
nostra;  the  scientific  senior  dropping  lighted  matches 
into  a  half-bottle  of  wine,  and  grinning  inanely  as  they 
were  extinguished  ;  Sam  Malachite  on  his  knees  with  Tuf- 
ton's  dog  Scamp  at  the  fireplace,  trying  to  force  him  to 
swallow  an  andiron  ;  the  meriy  junior  dancing  in  a  corner, 
flirting  a  colored  napkin  after  the  manner  of  a  senorita  in 
the  bolero,  coquetting  the  while  with  a  door-knob ;  the 
dashing  Varnum,  prancing  about  the  room  with  a  pair  of 
deer's  horns  on  his  head,  while  Penhallow  the  deer- slayer, 
fired  with  the  thought  of  so  much  juicy  venison  escaping 
him,  was  bombarding  him,  through  an  improvised  shoot- 
ing-iron, with  French  peas  and  the  more  deadly  ammuni- 
tion of  spherical  confectionery,  till  he  finally  brings  him 
down  in  a  wilderness  of  plates  and  dishes  by  the  buffet, 
causing  the  crash  which  brought  Tufton  to  his  feet,  —  how 
the  sight  of  it  all  sickened  young  Tom,  or  would  have  sick- 
ened him,  if  its  grossness  had  not  shaded  so  evidently  into 
the  comical ! 

And  when  Malachite,  sp}'ing  Tom  by  Tufton's   side, 

'  rushed  at  him,  and  dragged  him  into  the  room,  saluting 

him   as  "  Ham' smith,  jolT  good  fell',  Ham' smith,"  and 

making  many  personal  allusions  to  Hammersmith's  college 


102  HAMMERSMITH : 

life,  Mr.  Tom's  lip  quivered,  and  a  dangerous  look  came 
int)  his  e}Te.  But  when  the  }"oung  wine-bibber  called  for 
a  toast,  in  incoherent  phrases  that  need  not  be  exhibited 
on  this  page,  and  finally  exclaimed,  "Oh,  here  'tis!  — 
'  Ham'smith,  awf  1  swell !  Fresh  Pond,  awf'l  scrape  ! ' 
Here  'tis,  feU's,  '  The  ladies  !  '  —  no,  that  won't  do  !  Too 
many  ladies.  Too  many  ladies  ain't  good !  Here's  Miss 
— Miss  —  what's  her  name,  Fenncx?  Here's  Miss  Dar  " 
—  Tom  rushed  towards  him,  shouting,  "  Hold  j'our  tongue, 
will  3rou,  if  you're  a  gentleman!"  and  looked  as  if  he 
would  strike  him. 

Tufton  and  others  gathered  about  Malachite,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  pacifying  him ;  while  Glidewell  and  several  men 
came  in,  and  begged  Tom  not  to  mind  him.  "  He's 
always  going  off  at  half-cock,  my  dear  fellow,  and  is 
hardly  responsible." 

There  is  enough  of  this,  and  more  than  enough,  to  show 
what  manner  of  man  is  this  my  Lord  Tufton,  and  how  his 
little  suppers  served  not  only  to  turn  his  }'oung  guests  into 
riotous  livers,  but  to  deh'ver  them  over,  body  and  soul, 
into  his  gilded  net,  with  its  carefully-contrived  meshes. 
No  man  is  so  much  your  master  as  he  who  has  witnessed 
your  excesses,  and  pulled  you  out  of  your  scrapes.  Tuf- 
ton knew  this  ;  and  Ms  whole  policy  (for  his  life,  like  that 
pf  so  many  others,  was  a  network  of  policy  and  diplo- 
macy) was  arranged  accordingly. 

You  may  be  sure  that  so  skilful  a  host  as  Tufton  did 
not  allow  any  temporar}^  ill-feeling  engendered  Ivy  this 
little  contretemps  to  remain  between  his  two  guests,  both 
of  whom  he  thought  necessary  to  his  plans ;  and  that, 
before  the  party  broke  up  that  evening,  all  concerned  had 
shaken  hands  amicably,  (what  gentleman  could  withstand 
Tufton' s  honeyed  appeals?)  and  only  Tufton  himself 
chuckled  over  it  as  another  move  on  his  board.  You 
cannot  be  so  sure  what  Mr.  Tom's  private  thoughts  were 


HIS   HARVAKD   DAYS.  103 

that  night,  as  he  shut  himself  in  his  room,  and  looked  at 
his  flushed  face  in  the  glass.  But,  if  you  had  been  in  his 
study  when  he  entered,  you  would  have  seen  him  throw 
himself  after  a  while  on  the  sofa,  from  which  Tufton  had 
aroused  him  several  nights  before,  and  lie  there  a  long 
tune,  staring  at  the  ceiling,  till  his  cold  room  made  him 
shiver,  and  he  arose,  and  went  to  his  bedroom. 

How  could  Hammersmith  foresee  the  result  of  this  first 
festive  evening  at  Tufton 's  sumptuous  table?  How  could 
he  prophesy  the  ultimate  effect  of  Tufton' s  evident  par- 
tiality for  him  ?  What  3'oung  gentleman  can  at  once  com- 
prehend the  various  moves  of  a  skilful  player  like  my  Lord 
Tufton? 

Ah,  what  threads  are  woven  into  the  substance  of  a 
man's  life  by  a  careless  shuttle,  that  he  would  gladly  bave 
omitted !  Is  it  a  careless  shuttle?  Who  shall  say? 


104  HAMMERSMITH- 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN   WHICH   HAMMERSMITH   QUITS  THE   VERDANT   FIELDS. 

"  Gather  ye  rosebuds  while  ye  may, 

Old  Time  is  still  a-flying; 
And  this  same  flower  that  smiles  to-day 
To-morrow  will  be  dying."  —  HERRICK. 

"  He  said  he  knew  what  was  what." 

SKELTON,  Why  come  ye  not  to  Courtet 

rilHE  early  summer  days,  nowhere  more  lovely  than  in 
-L  New  England,  were  at  hand.  The  sun,  that  had  so 
many  times  looked  down  through  scurrying  clouds  to  see 
if  this  bleak  corner  of  the  world  were  ready  for  summer, 
seemed  satisfied  at  last,  and  was  calling  the  timid  flowers 
from  their  hiding-places  all  over  the  dear  New-England 
hills,  and  rocky  pastures,  and  urban  garden-fronts.  The 
ice  had  long  ago  left  ihe  river,  bumping  its  way  seaward 
through  the  numerous  bridges,  the  curse  of  boating-men : 
even  the  icy  circlets  about  their  lower  timbers,  which 
hung  in  stubborn  rings  long  after  the  river  was  free, 
had  vanished  before  the  warm  winds  blowing  over  the 
marshes,  and  opening  the  doors  of  the  boat-houses  for 
the  first  adventurous  crews.  The  treacherous  roof  of 
Fresh  Pond,  which  had  let  Mr.  Tom  and  Miss  Darby 
through  into  its  cold  quarters  several  months  ago,  had 
long  since  been  cut  into  glistening  cubes,  and  packed 
away  in  the  ice-houses  which  line  the  shore,  whence,  in 
due  course  of  time,  it  will  issue  to  travel  to  the  Indies,  or 
bring  relief  in  clamorous  hospital- wards,  or  cool  the  fer- 
vors of  next  winter's  ball-rooms,  or,  perhaps,  to  tinkle 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  105 

in  many  a  glass  at  club,  and  public-house,  and  college- 
supper,  where  Mr.  Tom  may  take  his  revenge  on  its 
former  freezing  hospitality. 

Boating-men  were  happy  to  be  released  from  their  mo- 
notonous winter  practice,  and  to  launch  their  various  ciaft 
on  the  river  once  more.  Crews  which  had  been  under 
watchful  e}*es  all  winter,  forbidden  indulgences  of  every 
sort,  kept  up  to  their  daily  work  at  clubs  and  dumb-bells 
and  weights,  by  a  merciless  captain,  now  tried  their 
strength  and  their  new  stroke  in  their  boats,  and  were 
wonderfully  mysterious  over  success  and  failure  alike. 
Courageous  freshmen,  who  now  ventured  to  embark  in 
crank}r  shells,  with  novel  outriggers  and  oars,  crawled 
along  the  winding  stream,  and  were  fished  up  here  and 
there  by  passing  crews.  Pale  students,  paler  from  the 
winter's  hard  work  and  confinement,  paddled  up  and  down 
in  "  constitutionals,"  often  furtively  concealing  a  book 
between  their  feet.  Less  studious  men,  on  pleasure  bent, 
rowed  leisurely  to  "Watertown,  where  the  famous  Spring 
Hotel  offered  abundant  cheer ;  or  down  stream  to  Boston, 
where  they  tied  up  at  Braman's  Baths,  and  scattered  for 
Ripley's  or  Parker's,  or  other  haunts  well  known  to  the 
inquisitive  student.  Still  more  daring  crews  and  pair-oars 
ventured  as  far  as  Hull  and  Point  Shirley,  famous  for 
fish-dinners  and  jolly-tar  revelry.  In  the  very  preceding 
year,  indeed,  a  crew  had  gone  as  far  as  Nahant,  and  was 
nearly  swamped  by  a  north-west  wind  in  returning. 

Of  an  evening,  when  the  primitive  boat-houses  of  the 
day  were  filled  with  men  in  ah1  stages  of  dressing,  boats 
putting  off,  perhaps,  to  have  a  brush  with  some  local  wa- 
termen or  Boston  crew,  captains  giving  their  orders,  oars 
flashing,  and  the  banks  lined  with  men  watching  and 
criticising,  it  was  a  pretty  sight,  — tell  me,  dear  lover  of 
trorses,  polishing  your  Mexican  bit  over  yonder,  "yas  it 
tiot  ?  Man}'  a  tune  have  I  seen  your  broad  back  rising 


106  HAMMERSMITH  : 

and  falling  before  me,  regular  as  a  trip-hammer,  as  1 
pulled  behind  you,  and  put  my  last  pound  on  my  oar,  to 
keep  up  with  your  slashing  stroke.  But  }"ou  stepped  out 
of  the  boat  as  cool  and  fresh  as  a  water-god,  while  the 
rest  of  us  fellows  were  white  about  the  mouth,  and  trem- 
bled just  a  bit,  and  could  hardly  climb  up  the  ropes, 
which  was  the  only  wa}r  of  reaching  the  houses  in  thoso 
primeval  boating-days. 

Cricketers,  too,  — merry  fellows  in  white  flannel  suits,  — 
pitched  their  wickets  of  an  afternoon  on  the  Delta,  and 
bowled  away  at  each  other's  stumps  till  the  bell  rang  for 
afternoon  recitation.  If  }-ou  had  been  near  them,  you 
would  have  heard  them  forever  discussing  the  nice  techni- 
calities of  their  graceful  game,  —  the  comparative  merits 
of  underhand  and  round-arm  bowling,  the  draw  and  the 
drive,  hit  to  leg  and  off,  or  shouting,  "  Oh,  a  beauty, 
Smith  !  "  "  Well  cut,  Brown  !  "  "  Stumped,  by  Jove  ! 
Yes,  your  foot  was  out  of  the  crease  !  "  as  their  practice 
went  on.  Or  they  packed  themselves  into  coaches,  with 
a  profusion  of  bats  and  gloves  and  pads  ;  and  with  a  half- 
dozen  rosj'-white  fellows  clinging  on  the  top,  cheering  and 
singing,  the}'  rattled  awajr  to  play  a  match  with  the  ' '  Bos- 
tons," or  the  new  "  Aristonicans  "  of  Roxbury,  or  other 
neighboring  club.  The  gentlemanly  "  Nonantums  "  of 
Newton,  who  had,  later,  a  brief  but  brilliant  existence, 
were  not  3*et  organized. 

What  hearty,  joj'ous  young  fellows  they  were !  You 
would  see  a  couple  of  them  practising  slow  twisters  at 
each  other  for  hours  together:  indeed,  the  good  Oxytone, 
piofcssor  of  Greek,  hearing  a  strange  hubbub  above  his 
head  in  Holworthy  one  evening,  went  up,  and  found  Hali- 
tnirton  and  his  chum  bowling  at  an  improvised  wicket  in 
their  bedroom,  and  practising  the  drop-catch  with  each 
other,  quite  regardless  of  study-hour  regulations.  And 
men  often  ran  down  to  East  Cambridge  of  a  Saturday 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  107 

tiorning  to  the  "  Bostons'  "  grounds,  and  stood  up  for  an 
hour  or  two,  elaborately  padded  and  gloved,  to  be  bowled 
at  by  their  professional,  —  an  Englishman  from  the  Mary- 
lebone  Club,  who  spoke  of  Lillywhite  and  Pilch  and 
"Old  Clarke,"  the  great  slow  bowler,  as  personal  ac- 
quaintances, and  dropped  his  h's  over  many  an  account 
of  two-day  matches  with  Eton  and  Harrow,  and  the  All- 
England  Eleven  ;  while  various  red-faced  gentry  in  cords, 
with  flambo3'ant  neckerchiefs,  smoking  short  clay  pipes, 
leaned  on  their  favorite  bats,  or  lay  on  the  close-cut  grass, 
criticising  genially  the  dapper  "  college-boys." 

"Walking-men,  sure  again  of  good  roads,  strode  off  to 
Mount  Auburn,  or  Belmont,  or  the  heights  in  Somerville, 
or,  if  anxious  for  a  longer  stretch,  to  West  Cambridge  and 
around  Fresh  Pond,  or  to  Watertown,  or  Parker's  Hill, 
returning  often  with  wild  flowers,  and  bringing  a  whiff  of 
the  woods,  and  a  spicy  gusto  into  their  close  scholastic 
life. 

With  balmy  weather  came  also  the  throwing-up  of  col- 
lege-windows, and  the  upward  incense  of  fumacious  men, 
sitting  mild-eyed  in  ample  window-seats,  and  sending  their 
smoke  to  mingle  with  the  tender  green  of  the  elm  foliage  ; 
came,  also,  an  occasional  shout  of  "Heads  out!"  from 
some  diligent  lounger, — the  signal  that  an  unprotected 
young  woman  was  crossing  the  college-yard,  sweetly  un- 
conscious of  the  ancient  custom,  but  likely  to  have  it 
impressed  on  her  b}*  the  rapid  opening  of  windows,  and 
protruding  of  student  heads. 

On  still  and  moonlit  nights  came  the  Glee  Club,  from  its 
i  oms  on  the  corner  of  Holyoke  and  Harvard  Streets,  and 
satfg  its  echoing  glees  about  tne  college-steps,  —  the  pen- 
sive "  Lovety  Night,"  and  the  Marschner  "  Serenade  ;" 
the  "Artillerist's  Oath,"  with  its  strong  anvil- notes ; 
Boieldieu's  "  Praise^of  the  Soldier,"  with  finale  of  ringing 
"hurrahs  ;  or  Vogel's  "  WaJ^z,"  which  had  set  everybody's 


108  HAMMEESMITH : 

feet  going  at  their  last  concert  in  Lyceum  Hall.  And  the 
"Pudding"  came  down  from  its  mysterious  quarters  in 
Stoughton ;  and  young  freshmen  listened  in  awe,  not  un- 
tinged  with  expectation,  as  the  members  gathered  about 
the  steps  of  the  hall,  and  sang  their  booming  choruses, 
ending  with  the  club-song  from  some  favorite  singer,  and 
the  whirl  about  the  tree  near  the  corner  of  Holworthy. 
The  "•  Institute  of  1770,"  too,  on  Fridaj'  evenings  emptied 
itself  from  the  lower  story  of  Massachusetts,  and  adjourned 
to  the  shadow  of  the  church  across  the  way  for  its  own 
vigorous  choruses,  —  "  Rumsti  Ho  !  "  and  "MacElroy," 
"  The  Irish  Jaunting-Car,"  and  so  on.  And,  if  you  had 
been  especially  inquisitive  and  especially  keen-eared,  you 
might  have  detected  other  bodies  of  young  men  emerging 
from  other  mysterious  club-rooms,  with  softer  tread  and  a 
quie  ,er  dispersion,  and  making  their  way  to  their  rooms  in 
the  quadrangle.  But  the  open  and  tolerated  societies  were 
enough  of  a  wonder  and  enchantment  for  the  freshman 
Hammersmith  and  his  friends,  to  whom  the  existence  of 
secret  societies,  with  clandestine  grips  and  pass- words, 
and  diabolic  paraphernalia,  came  as  yet  only  as  a  faint 
rumor. 

All  these  novel  events  of  student-life  were  now  trans- 
piring about  Mr.  Tom,  bewitching  him  with  their  mystery 
and  their  heartiness,  and,  I  fear,  drawing  him  still  farther 
from  the  memory  of  his  dull  boyhood  on  the  Hudson.  He 
was  talcing  his  share,  too,  in  every  thing  that  interested 
his  classmates,  or  the  rather  small  set  with  which  he  was 
intimate.  He  had  risen  to  the  proud  position  of  No.  2  in 
his  class- boat,  G oldie  being  the  stroke.  He  had  given 
way  to  the  dancing  epidemic  which  broke  out  among-  hia 
friends  in  early  spring,  —  when  the  young  man's  fancy 
lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  friskiness,  — and  might  have 
been  seen,  with  Freemantle  and  others,  twice  a  week  in 
the  dancing  academjT  of  Madam  To'ey,  in  Boston,  one- 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  109 

two-three-ing  with  that  antique  sprightliness.  He  had 
long  ago  had  his  quarter  with  "The  Chicken,"  and  had 
been  pronounced  a  very  fair  boxer  by  that  pugilistic  A.M. 
"  Lor'  bless  you,  sir,  'e  don't  know  'is  hown  strength,  'e 
don't!"  "The  Chicken"  had  remarked  to  Penhallow, 
after  a  couple  of  lessons,  —  "  'e  'as  the  most  hextraordi- 
nary  reach,  'e  'as\  "  And  he  was  already  well  known  as 
one  of  the  most  promising  athletes  in  the  class,  who  had 
taken  kindly  to  exercise  from  the  very  first  night  of  his 
freshman  life,  when  he  had  been  tossed  in  a  blanket  by 
the  sophomores,  and  complimented  by  them  as  "  a  plucky 
one." 

You  may  be  sure  that  Mr.  Tufton,  too,  was  on  hand  at 
these  opening  summer  festivities,  as  fresh  and  bloom- 
ing as  the  delicate  boutonniere  which  he  wore,  culled  with 
care  from  his  overflowing  jardiniere.  Who  of  those  days 
does  not  remember  him  in  all  his  jauntiness,  standing  at 
the  boat-houses  in  the  dusk,  as  the  crews  came  in,  rolling 
slender  cigarettes  the  while,  and  patting  big-muscled  oars- 
men with  his  dainty  fingers  ?  If  his  knowledge  of  water- 
craft  was  exceedingly  rudimentary,  and  his  criticisms  on 
the  styles  of  rowing  and  the  form  of  crews  somewhat  at 
random,  there  was  an  undoubted  attraction  in  the  frequent 
^'Come  up,  come  up,  and  take  a  glass  of  wine!  "  with 
which  he  greeted  many  of  the  oarsmen  as  they  emerged 
from  the  dressing-rooms.  Where,  indeed,  was  a  more 
promising  jungle  for  his  lion-hunting  than  Jhese  same 
rickety  boat-houses,  and  this  wilderness  of  boats,  from 
which  many  a  hero  of  the  hour  was  destined  to  come 
forth? 

And  whether  it  was  a  cricket-match,  or  a  bout  with  the 

gloves  in  "The  Chicken's"  rooms  in  town;  a  glee-club 

serenade,  or  the  trial  of   a  new  man  in  the  'Varsity,  — 

' .'  Tufton  was  sure  to  be  there,  rynx-eyed,  smiling,  dressed 

-    to  suit  the  occasion,  and  alwaj's  contriving  to  single  ou* 


110  HAMMERSMITH : 

the  prominent  man, — be  he  great  batter,  graceful  boxer > 
tenor  of  liquid  notes,  or  powerful  oarsman,  — and  to  cover 
him  with  a  few  careful  compliments. 

Goldie  was  perhaps  the  only  man  among  Tom's  imme- 
diate friends  who  was  entirely  proof  against  the  well- 
aimed  attacks  of  the  diplomatic  Tufton.  lie  was  almost 
the  only  man  who  systematically  refused  his  polite  invita- 
tions, the  only  man  who  gave  him  the  cold  shoulder  at 
wines  and  suppers  where  they  unavoidabty  met,  and  the 
only  man  to  dare  to  say  a  word  of  disparagement  of  the 
elegant  young  Macchiavelli. 

"  Mark  my  words,  Tom,"  said  Goldie  one  evening, 
' '  that  fellow  will  turn  out  a  rogue  or  a  blackleg,  or  my 
name's  not  Goldie.  Who  is  he?  Where  does  he  come 
from?  I  tell  you  nobody  knows,  and  nobody  dares  to 
inquire.  It's  a  disgrace,  that  a  man  of  such  habits  as  we 
know  this  fellow  has  should  have  the  entree  that  he  has, 
and  be  able  to  meet  your  sister  and  mine  in  society. 
Malachite  is  to  blame  for  that.  And  that  friend  of  his,  — 
what's  his  name?  —  Crosby!  I  didn't  have  the  distin- 
guished honor  of  his  acquaintance,  as  I'm  not  down  on 
my  Lord  Tufton 's  books,  thank  Heaven!  But  I  fancy 
I  can"  tell  a  gambler  when  I  see  him ;  and,  if  ever  I 
clapped  eye  on  one  of  the  nimble-fingered  gentiy  in  my 
life,  he's  one  of  'em !  If  you  want  to  know  about  him, 
just  ask  your  friend  Gimlet,  the  policeman,  what  he 
knows  about  him  (he  was  on  dut}-  in  New  York  for 
several  3rears,  you  know),  or  call  at  an}'  of  the  lowest 
gambling-hells  in  town,  and  you'll  learn  what  a  sweet 
young  gentleman  you  were  asked  to  meet  at  Tufton 's  orgy 
that  night!  " 

Tom  was  inclined  to  resent  such  severity  on  Goldie's 
part.  He  said  that  he  was  judging  Tufton  and  his  friends 
harshly ;  and  had  Goldie  a  right  to  talk  thus,  when  he  haJ 
never  been  inside  of  his  rooms,  or  taken  the  pains  to  say 


HIS    HARVARD    DAYS.  Ill 

ten  words  with  him  in  his  life?  And  tliL-n  he  giv\v  a 
link'  proud  and  lol\y.  tu  think  that  he  had  IUTH  so  early 
distinguished  liy  Tufton's  llattering  recognition:  and  he 
spoke  rather  hotly  to  Gold;  •.  and  intimated,  that  if  Guldie 
meant  to  imply  there  wa<  any  danger  of  Tufton's  pulliiu 
the  wool  over  his.  Hammersmith's,  eyes,  he  was  very  miieh 
mistaken;  that  he  had  cut  his  eye-teeth.  by  Juve  !  and 
fancied  he  could  toll  a  blackleg  from  a  gentleman  as  well 
as  the  next  man  ;  and  he'd  thank  him  in  A  to  be  quite  so 
quick  ill  condemning  men  who  had  been  very  polite,  to  him, 
and  with  whom  G oldie  himself  had  no  sort  of  acquaint- 
ance. 

Goldie  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  merely.  "As 
you  will;"  while  Tom  got  up  and  left  his  room  rather 
abruptly,  going,  by  a  sort  of  instinct,  straight  to  the  slan- 
dered man's  rooms,  where  he  found  a  number  of  men 
playing  cards  and  smoking,  —  ••  Tuftou  gone  to  town." 

Tom,  who  had  never  spoken  harshly  to  Goldie  before 
in  the  whole  year,  refused  a  hand  in  the  game,  in  which 
money  was  changing  hands  pretty  freely,  and  sat  quietly 
in  a  corner,  thinking  over  what  his  Puritanic  friend  had 
said,  and  questioning  how  much  was  truth,  and  how  much 
mere  conjecture. 

But  one  of  the  lessons  which  Tom  was  learning  now  — 
a.  lesson  not  put  down  in  the  text-books,  but  learned  and 
unlearned  from  the  iron  leaves  of  experience  —  was  that 
every  fellow  was  his  own  master,  and  any  fellow  that  came 
about  peddling  advice  to  another  fellow  had  better  be  sent 
jacking.  That  was  about  the  way  in  which  the  lesson 
mi  in  Tom's  mind  that  evening,  and  I  set  it  down  as  his 
thoughts  ran.  plainly. 

A  headstrong  young  fellow  who  has  made  up  his  mind 
to  have  his  own  way,  and  light  his  own  battles,  and  whose 
appetite  for  pleasure,  moreover,  and  what  is  called  ••  seeing 
life,"  is  insatiable,  is  pretty  apt  to  shed  advice  as  a  duck 


112  HAMMERSMITH: 

sheds  water.  I  question  if  Goldie  would  have  thought  it 
well  to  say  even  as  much  as  he  did,  if  he  had  known  the 
Hammersmith  character  better.  But  he  liked  Tom,  he 
hated  Tufton  (about  as  much  as  that  worthy  hated  him  in 
return ;  for  these  things  are  very  apt  to  be  mutual) ,  and 
he  had  spoken  several  times  now  to  Tom  from  the  interest 
he  had  in  him,  and  the  anxiety  he  felt  lest  Tom  should 
corne  too  much  under  Tufton' s  corrupting  influence.  So 
Mr.  Tom,  as  usual,  took  the  matter  in  his  own  hands, 
decided  that  he  knew  "  what  was  what,"  and  felt  a  sort 
of  shame  in  the  very  satisfaction  which  he  gave  himself 
in  deciding  against  Goldie.  It  is  pleasant,  very  pleasant, 
to  have  your  own  way,  but  not  so  pleasant  to  be  obliged 
to  run  counter  to  a  tried  friend  like  Goldie. 

I  doubt  if  all  the  pronunciamentos  and  bulls,  ukases 
and  messages,  of  all  the  powers  of  Christendom,  which 
are  pasted  up  or  tacked  up,  or  proclaimed  by  trumpeter, 
or  sent  to  a  house  of  Congress,  or  scattered  broadcast, 
inflammatory,  carry  greater  awe  and  consternation  to  the 
bodies  for  which  they  are  issued  than  those  which  are  pro- 
claimed to  the  Cambridge  student-world  from  the  bulletins 
and  numerous  society-boards  hung  up  in  front  of  University 
Hall  —  or  which  were  hung  there  in  Hammersmith's  time. 

Here  were  the  orthodox  bulletin-boards  of  the  univer- 
sity authorities,  where  were  posted  the  lists  of  successful 
competitors  for  prizes,  lists  of  rooms  for  the  classes  as 
they  move  on  from  year  to  year  (peripatetic,  and  chan- 
ging their  abode  like  the  soul  of  Rama) ,  lists  of  those 
passing  their  examinations,  and  all  manner  of  announce- 
ments of  exhibitions,  and  changes  in  routine  and  author- 
ized orders.  Here  graduating  seniors  advertised  their 
merchantable  property :  ' '  An  iron  bedstead  and  exceed- 
ingly comfortable  easy-chair  for  sale  at  Holworthy  14.' 
"  A  hat-tub  and  pair  of  clubs,  weight  forty  pounds  each, 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  113 

at  Brattle  House  57.  Boxing-gloves  and  dumb-bells  will 
be  sold  if  desired,  though,  the  owner  is  not  anxious  to 
part  with  them."  "  Come  to  Brown's  !  An  entire  estab- 
lishment to  be  cleared  out !  Every  thing  that  a  gentle- 
man can  desire  to  make  life  comfortable,  and  college-life, 
in  particular,  a  bed  of  roses;  spring-bed  thrown  in." 
Here,  too,  were  put  up  announcements  of  cricket-matches 
and  boat-races,  and  football-matches  between  Stoughton  and 
Hollis  ;  and  the  meetings  of  committees  of  this,  that,  and 
the  other  club  ;  with  tradesmen's  cards,  and  the  prices  of 
wood  and  coal  at  the  college- wharf ;  and  professional  no- 
tices of  this  and  that  Polish  exile,  or  French  or  German 
nobleman,  in  reduced  circumstances,  who  would  consent 
to  teach  fencing  and  single-stick,  or  the  noble  languages 
of  their  country,  for  a  consideration. 

And  here,  more  awful  and  portentous  than  these,  ranged 
in  the  windows  as  their  dajrs  of  meeting  came  round,  were 
the  boards  of  the  various  open  societies  of  the  period,  at 
which  freshmen  gazed  open-mouthed,  — the  Hasty  Pudding 
Club,  with  the  placid  sphinx  and  other  pictorial  ornament 
b}r  the  artist  of  the  club,  its  corn-colored  ribbons  ("  seges 
votis  respondet  "),  and  proud  signatures  of  president  and 
secretary ;  the  Porcellian,  equally  mysterious  and  elabo- 
rate ;  the  Glee  Club  and  the  Pierian  Sodalit}7,  the  Insti- 
tute of  1770,  St.  Paul's,  the  Christian  Brethren,  and  the 
rest.  How  many  regiments  of  youth  have  looked  up  with 
wonder  at  their  fateful  announcements,  or  have  stolen  fur- 
tive glances  at  them  as  they  rushed  in  to  recitation  !  Oh, 
no !  they  weren't  anxious  to  know  about  the  societies ; 
they  didn't  care  who  was  president  or  secretary ;  they 
didn't  care  to  be  "  first  man."  And  while  fond  parents 
at  home  are  dreaming  of  the  scholastic  success  of  their 

,  hopefuls  at  the  fount  of  knowledge,  and  anxious  mammas 
are  writing  that  they  shall  be  very  careful  not  to  injure 

'  their  health  by  too  close  application  to  study,  tneir  Neda 


114  HAMMERSMITH : 

and  their  Sams,  their  Bobs,  Joes,  and  Jims,  are  looking 
up  to  these  cabalistic  boards  on  university,  listening  to 
such  traditions  as  are  allowed  to  trickle  as  far  down  as 
freshmen's  ears,  and  laying  their  pipes,  as  far  as  possible, 
to  be  first  man  here,  or  at  least  in  the  first  ten  there,  — 
ardent  little  hero-worshippers,  forever  Jco tow-ing  before 
their  idols ! 

I  do  not  proclaim  it  of  all  freshmen ;  but  I  ask  anjr 
Harvard  man  who  was  an  undergraduate  at  the  time  of 
great  society  activity,  if  their  contemporary  Neds  and 
Bobs  and  Jims  were  not  considerably  harassed  in  mind, 
about  the  end  of  freshman  year,  by  the  great  question, 
Who  will  be  the  first  ten  in  the  Institute?  and  if  the 
fever  produced  by  this  all-important  query  did  not  last 
them  through  their  course,  and  often  take  on  a  very 
malignant  type  towards  its  close,  productive  of  heart- 
burnings and  estrangements  and  divisions  of  whole 
classes. 

There  was  no  small  excitement  in  the  quadrangle,  there- 
fore, one  morning  towards  the  end  of  term,  as  the  In- 
stitute board  appeared  in  its  usual  place,  with  the  usual 
announcement  and  well-known  signatures,  but  with  the 
addition  of  a  slip  of  paper  pasted  in  one  corner,  which 
was  being  eagerly  read  by  a  large  crowd  on  the  return 
for  prayers.  It  ran  thus :  — 

"First  ten  members  of  tlie  freshman,  class  elected  into  the  In- 
stitute: — 

FKEEMANTLE.  GOLDIE. 

PIXCKNEY.  FAYERWEATHEB. 

HAMMERSMITH.  ST.  JOHN. 

PENIIALLOW.  LYTTON. 

ALBEMARLE.  WASSON. 

"They  will  be  initiated  next  Friday  evening,  July  11." 

This  awful  initiation,  with  its  iterated  "thanks  for  the 
honor  conferred,"  and  Malachite's  solemn  announcement 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  115 

in  behalf  of  the  vacant-minded  freshmen,  as  they  groped  in 
vain  for  ideas  and  words,  —  "  H-u-s-h,  fellows,  he  has  an 
idea !  "  —  which  caused  Mr.  Tom,  when  his  turn  came,  to 
make  some  emphatic  remark  about  "  punching  somebody's 
head;"  the  preparation  for  the  final  examinations  of 
freshman  year,  during  which  Freemantle,  Hammersmith, 
and  a  host  of  others,  were  gathered  nightly  in  Free- 
mantle's  rooms,  galloping  over  the  year's  work,  with  the 
aid  of  ready  ponies,  while  Breese  was  working  like  a 
Trojan,  scorning  the  practices  of  the  Freemantle  party, 
and  keeping  himself  in  magnificent  form  with  his  daily 
constitutionals,  his  plunge  in  the  river,  and  an  occasional 
terrific  header  from  a  diving-board  that  had  been  set  up ; 
the  class-races,  in  which  the  freshmen  came  in  an  easy 
second,  with  Goldie,  Hammersmith,  and  Penhallow  at 
Nos.  1,  2,  and  3  respectively,  and  Freemantle  as  bow 
(who  had  consented  to  row,  after  much  soli  citation,  de- 
claring at  the  same  time  that  it  was  a  ' '  demnition 
grind");  the  final  examinations,  with  Mr.  Tom's  an- 
nouncement to  his  mother,  that  he  had  passed,  and  passed 
very  creditably  as  he  thought,  but  that  Pinckney  and 
Wasson  had  been  suspended  (' '  Pinck  is  awfully  cut  up 
about  it,  afraid  his  governor  ma}7  take  him  away  entirely. 
I  hope  he  won't,  as  Pinck's  a  mighty  nice  fellow,  and  we 
should  miss  him  awfully.  "Wasson,  though,  doesn't  seem 
to  care  a  fig,  laughs  about  it  with  ever}'body,  and  invites 
everybody  up  to  see  him  at  Concord,  to  which  he  is  sent 
off  for  three  months  "),  —  all  these  things  might  receive 
more  than  passing  mention  from  Hammersmith's  biogra- 
pher, if  the  gathering  pages  did  not  warn  him  to  be  brief. 
Yes  ;  and  Mr.  Tom's  final  letter  to  his  mother,  declaring 
that  bJie  must  give  up  the  idea  of  his  rooming  alone  any 
longer  (it  was  too  lonely,  and  he  and  Penhallow  were 
going  to  room  together,  if  the}'  could  secure  a  room  in 
the  3Tard) ,  —  how  the  font  mother  brooded  over  it,  after 


116  HAMMERSMITH : 

the  manner  of  women,  and  over  her  Tom's  announcement) 
in  a  postscript,  that  he  was  going  to  bring  Pen  home  for 
a  part  of  the  vacation ;  and  wouldn't  she  please  put  the 
north  room  in  order,  and  "  cheer  up  "  ?  And,  shaking  her 
head,  she  yet  set  about  executing  Sultan  Tom's  commands 
at  once,  and  preparing  to  receive  the  dear  wanderer  with 
a  fitting  welcome. 

So  about  the  20th  of  July,  these  two  young  bucks 
descended  upon  the  quiet  home  on  the  Hudson,  gay  with 
knots  of  crimson  ribbon  at  their  buttonholes,  and  crimson 
handkerchiefs,  which  the}7  allowed  to  appear  seductively 
from  their  pockets,  —  none  the  less  bright  and  cheery 
themselves ;  for  they  came  with  the  airs  of  conquerors, 
and  brought  a  different  atmosphere,  and  much  foreign 
movement,  into  the  rather  stagnant  life  at  "  Iv}r  Hill." 

And  their  bo}7  was  changed  to  the  doting  mother,  and 
to  young  Mabel,  who  had  shot  up  fair  and  tall  by  this 
time,  and  who  almost  blushed,  as  Tom  came  bounding  up, 
and  kissed  her,  and  was  fairly  covered  with  becoming 
blushes,  when  Torn  presented  "My  friend  Penhallow, 
Mabel,"  and  Penhallow  bowed  elaborately,  and  said,  "I 
am  very  happy  to  meet  you,  Miss  Hammersmith,"  — Miss 
Hammersmith  !  she  who  had  been  plain  ' '  Mabel ' '  till 
then,  or  "Miss  Mabel"  at  most.  The  mother  hugged 
her  dear  returned  boy  to  her  heart,  and  would  not  let  him 
go  ;  and  yet  felt  that  he  was  not  the  same  Tom  who  had 
gone  away  from  her  a  ten-month  ago,  —  such  a  long  ten- 
month  !  She  was  vary  glad  to  see  Mr.  Penhallow,  and 
did  all  that  an  absorbed  parent  could  do  to  make  the 
young  men's  visit  pleasant ;  for  she  appreciated  that  it 
was  but  a  visit,  even  to  Tom :  and  she  had  a  shadowy 
notion  that  she  must  prepare  as  attractive  as  possible  a 
counterpoise  to  the  gay  life  that  the  lad  must  have  been 
leading,  lest  he  grow  weary  of  home,  and  wish  himself 
away. 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  117 

Yes,  she  felt  that  he  was  changed.  He  was  no  longer 
the  simple  Tom,  so  artless,  so  devoted,  so  naturally  im- 
petuous, as  before  !  He  had  an  absorbed  air.  His  voice 
was  more  manly  and  decided,  as  she  had  expected,  of 
course  ;  but  it  had  a  harsher  tone.  He  had  lost  the  half- 
shrinking  manners  of  boyhood,  and  had  now  almost  a 
swagger,  as  he  strutted  about  the  place  with  Penhallow ; 
and,  horror  of  horrors !  he  had  picked  up  the  filthy  habit 
of  smoking.  And  the  poor  widow's  heart  received  a  more 
cruel  blow  than  ever  when  she  saw  her  darling  boy  giving 
vay  to  this  "  horrid,  horrid  vice."  She  felt  that  her  influ- 
ence over  huii  was  indeed  waning.  She  remonstrated 
with  him  when  she  had  him  alone  ;  but  he  met  her  anxious 
pleading  with  a  trifling  jest,  and  quoted  hosts  of  the  head 
men  in  the  upper  classes  in  Cambridge  who  smoked,  and 
smoked  incessantly. 

And  she  remonstrated,  with  abated  force,  at  bis  fine 
clothes,  and  the  mono}'  that  he  must  have  spent  on  them. 
But  he  said,  u  You  should  see  some  of  the  fellows  !  Why, 
I'm  dressed  more  quietly  than  almost  any  man  in  my 
class."  And  she  was  sorry  that  he  was  going  to  move 
into  the  college-j'ard  with  a  room-mate.  "  "What !  don't 
you  like  Penhallow?"  asked  Tom.  And,  of  course,  she 
did  ;  "  but,  then  "  —  And  Tom  put  his  arm  around  her 
impulsively,  aud  told  her  she  must  not  have  so  many 
' '  notions ; ' '  that  he  could  take  care  of  himself.  She 
appreciated  that  only  too  well,  alas  !  and  went  on  wonder- 
ing over  the  maternal  problem  which  has  vexed  so  many 
fair  heads  before,  — wh}r  boj's  cannot  be  kept  alwa3's  boys, 
and  girls  always  girls? 

She  knew  the  Hammersmith  nature  better  than  Goldie, 
however,  and  was  aware  that  too  much  remonstrance 
would  be  worse  than  none  :  and  she  could  only  pray  God 
tliat  her  Torn  might  not  forget  her  entirely,  or  fall  into 
evil  courses  in  his  i  succeeding  }'ears.  She  did  not  thor 


118  HAMMERSMITH: 

oughly  like  young  Penhallow,  gentlemanly  and  polite  asi 
he  always  was.  He  had  a  more  hardened,  sarcastic  man- 
ner than  her  Tom ;  and  she  feared  his  influence.  The 
young  men  lingered  too  long  in  the  dining-room  after 
dinner,  she  thought ;  and  once  or  twice,  when  Tom  had 
insisted  on  having  Bob  Ruddiman  over  to  dine,  they  had 
taken  too  much  wine,  as  she  feared.  They  sang  college- 
songs,  which  came  floating  out  to  Mabel  and  her  on  the 
piazza ;  and  there  was  much  boisterous  laughter  and 
clinking  of  glasses.  The  young  men,  too,  had  many 
knowing  winks  and  dumb-shows  among  themselves,  which 
she  could  not  understand ;  and,  altogether,  she  wished  it 
was  not  so,  but  that  she  had  her  boyish  old  Tom  back 
again,  with  all  his  gentle,  loving  ways,  and  that  there 
might  be  no  change.  Ah,  me  ! 

Meanwhile  the  young  men  were  beguiling  the  time  as 
pleasantly  as  such  careless  youngsters  are  wont. 

If  some  of  the  stories  that  they  brought  home,  as 
many  of  their  songs,  were  of  a  rather  questionable  char- 
acter, better  suited  for  Tufton's  gay  chambers  than  the 
widow's  dining-room,  there  were  many,  also,  which  they 
retailed  to  the  mother  and  Mabel,  to  their  vast  entertain- 
ment. Penhallow,  who  could  play  a  few  chords  on  the 
piano,  contrived  to  make  them  do  heavy  duty,  by  way  of 
accompaniment,  to  a  number  of  comic  songs  ;  and  Mabel 
was  intensely  amused  at  their  piquancy,  and  thought  she 
had  "  never  heard  any  thing  half  so  funny,"  when  Tom 
and  Penhallow,  arrayed  in  solemn  black,  with  open  music- 
books  in  their  hands,  which  they  thumbed  vigorously, 
stood  up  by  the  piano,  and  sang,  though  without  accom- 
paniment, the  serio-comic  ditty  of  "Josephus  and  Bo- 
hunca,"  of  abbreviated  finale.  Tluddiman  was  fired  to 
emulation,  too,  and  essa3red  a  song  of  Yale.  But  his  voice 
was  not  designed  for  a  solo ;  and,  though  he  grinned 
feebly  when  he  came  to  the  funny  parts,  it  seemed  verj 


HIS  HARVARD   DAYS.  119 

serious  work  to  the  rest ;  and  he  looked  rather  sheepish 
when  he  had  finished.  Mabel  said,  "  Oh !  that  was  very 
funny."  But  Bob  knew  she  didn't  think  so  ;  and  he  felt 
more  uncomfortable  still. 

Ruddiman,  in  fact,  was  never  cut  out  for  a  parlor  orna- 
ment, and  had  a  number  of  fashionable  sisters  just  enough 
older  than  himself  to  make  him  feel  his  own  gauchene, 
which  the  young  ladies  took  care,  also,  to  impress  upon 
him  on  all  important  occasions.  An  early  career  with 
governesses  and  tutors  (whose  positions  were  far  from 
sinecures  with  the  lively  young  animal  Bob)  had  led  up 
to  a  later  intimacy  with  grooms  and  gardeners,  and  men 
about  the  place,  in  whose  company  he  had  spent  most  of 
his  time,  and  from  whom  he  had  learned  many  things  that 
might  better  have  been  omitted  in  his  education. 

His  stables  were  full  this  summer.  The  family  was 
away  at  Saratoga,  with  a  single  pair  of  horses ;  and  Bob 
never  tired  of  driving  and  riding  and  roystering  with  the 
young  Harvard  men,  who  were  made  free  of  his  horses, 
and  lured  over  to  "  Grasmere  "  almost  dailj1  by  the  lirelj 
young  gentleman  in  charge. 

The  river  was  as  tempting  as  ever  in  the  cool  of  mid- 
summer evenings,  when  Tom  had  been  accustomed  to 
row ;  but  the  men  had  had  enough  of  boats  for  many  a 
long  day,  the}'  said,  and  preferred  the  diversions  on  land 
which  Ruddiman  and  their  own  devices  provided.  And 
the}*  scandalized  the  neighborhood  with  their  boisterous 
conduct ;  and  Mrs.  Schuyler  and  Mrs.  Bogardus  called  as 
often  as  possible  to  gather  food  for  gossip  and  village 
amplification,  that  the  young  gentlemen's  reputations 
might  not  dwindle  in  eclipse. 

One  Sunda}-,  in  fact,  when  the  young  men  came  out  of 
church  (there  had  been  a  very  affecting  sermon  by  the 
Rev.  Lawnsleeve  of  New  York),  and  found  Ruddiman 
waiting  for  them  with  his  dog-cart,  smoking  an  immense 


120  HAMMERSMITH : 

cigar,  and  he  called  them  up  and  drove  them  off,  with  a 
shout  to  his  horses,  cutting  Mrs.  Van  Wyck's  coach-dog 
with  his  whip  as  he  whirled  away,  there  was  a  great  com- 
motion. Mrs.  Schuyler  prophesied  that  no  good  would 
come  of  Tom's  associating  with  young  Ruddiman,  whose 
father  had  better  come  and  look  after  him  if  he  didn't 
want  to  see  him  in  the  penitentiary  some  day.  The  village 
busybodies  caught  up  the  incident  with  gusto.  The  report 
soon  spread,  that  the  young  reprobates  had  actually  lighted 
their  cigars  in  the  vestibule,  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  the 
congregation  coming  out ;  and  people  wondered  how  a 
certain  mother  could  be  so  blind,  and  what  the  father 
would  have  thought  to  see  such  goings-on. 

But  the  young  men  were  hardly  as  abandoned,  and 
utterly  given  over  to  the  Evil  One,  as  the  quiet  hamlet 
would  like  to  make  them  out.  What  sinister  atoms  can 
there  be  in  the  human  brain  that  delight  in  twisting  and 
torturing  and  magnifying  the  errors  of  their  kind  ? 

Though  these  ga}-  young  gentlemen  strutted  and  sim- 
pered about  the  town  as  if  they  were  thinking  of  bujing 
it  for  a  pasture,  and  ogled  the  few  buxom  beauties  of  the 
place  with  the  air  of  connoisseurs,  and  stared  in  at  the 
milliner's  with  deused  knowing  airs,  and  nodded  to  young 
Mangul  Wurzel  and  his  cronies  as  if  they  said,  ' '  How 
are  }-ou,  old  cabbage-seeds  and  gunny-bags?  "  they  were 
harmless  little  idiots,  and  meant  no  wrong.  Bless  me ! 
how  this  thin  varnish,  this  rather  dazzling  veneer  of  man- 
ner, will  rub  off  when  they  enter  presently  the  great  rab- 
ble, and  push  and  jostle  on  their  way  through  life  ! 

And  so,  after  three  weeks  or  more  of  this  bucolic  merri- 
ment, which  had  set  the  village  teapot  boiling  and  fizzing 
so  spitefully,  the  party  broke  up.  Ruddiman  was  sum- 
moned to  Saratoga  to  render  an  account  of  his  steward- 
ship ;  and  his  green  suit  and  shiny  red  face,  which  had 
made  him  such  a  picturesque  addition  at  "Ivy  Hill," 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  121 

were  seen  there  no  more  that  summer.  Penhallow,  who 
had  accepted  Ruddiman's  hospitality,  but  by  no  means 
approved  of  his  coarse  manners,  went  off  to  join  a  walk- 
ing-party of  Boston  men  in  the  "White  Mountains ;  and 
Tom  remained  at  home. 

They  had  brought  many  novel  glimpses  of  life  to  Miss 
Mabel  among  the  other  effects  of  their  visit ;  and  the 
young  girl  felt  more  than  ever  that  it  must  be  like  living 
in  a  romance  to  be  amid  the  whirl  and  excitement  and 
fine  setting  of  their  daily  existence.  They  had  not 
thought  fit  to  cultivate  the  sweet  young  singer.  She  was 
a  mere  girl  yet,  and  "  Girls  are  such  infernal  idiots!" 
said  Bob,  speaking  from  domestic  experience  perhaps 
But  she  had  heard  and  seen  and  imagined  enough  to 
believe  that  they  were  all  young  princes  in  disguise 
(whether  princes  of  darkness  or  of  light  she  did  not  ask 
herself)  ;  but,  as  a  matter  of  course,  they  were  princes 
of  light,  pure  and  chivalric  of  life. 

And  when  the}'  were  separating,  and  Penhallow,  mak- 
ing his  adieus,  said  to  Mabel,  "I  hope  we  shall  see  j'ou 
in  Cambridge  some  day,  Miss  Hammersmith,"  she  blushed, 
und  said  she  didn't  know ;  for  she  had  never  thought  of 
such  a  thing  as  intruding  on  this  enchanted  ground,  and 
actually  seeing  and  enjoying  all  the  beautiful  things  of 
which  she  had  heard. 

Then  she  turned  to  Tom,  who  broke  out  with,  "  Oh,  yes ! 
we'Jl  have  her  come  up  some  day.  I  think  she  would  enjoy 
it.  But  she's  too  young  yet."  And  she  felt  very  small  at 
Iliis,  and  as  if  these  were  very  critical  princes  after  all. 

At  last  Tom,  too,  left,  to  stop  a  week  in  Stockbridge 
before  returning  to  Cambridge.  And  Mabel  came  to  her 
mother,  when  they  were  all  gone,  and  the  old  quiet  was 
resumed,  and,  leaning  her  head  against  her,  asked, 
• l  Yv'asn't  it  all  very  bright  anrl  merry  when  they  were  all 
hero  together,  mother?"  And  Mrs.  Hammersmith  said 
'*A"cs,  my  child,"  and  kissed  her. 


122  HAMMERSMITH : 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   KRESH   EXCURSION   INTO   VERDANCT. 

"  Don't  pour  water  on  a  drowned  mouse." 

OLD  PIIOVEBB. 

"  After  a  little  while,  lifting  his  head  from  the  collar  of  reflection,  he  removed 
the  talisman  of  silence  from  the  treasure  of  speech,  and  scattered  ekirtsful  of 
brilliant  gems  and  princely  pearls  before  the  company  in  his  mirth-exciting 
deliveries."  —  ORIENTAL,  BAHAR-DANUSH. 

OUR  duty  now  is  to  chronicle  a  fact  about  Mr.  Tom, 
which,  however  discreditable  to  him  as  the  chief 
actor  in  these  pages,  and  however  incongruous  with  the 
young  gentleman's  previous  resolutions,  is  yet  necessary 
for  those  readers  who  would  duly  estimate  the  temptations 
with  which  he  was  surrounded.  For  certain  it  is,  that 
after  having  had  all  his  finer  feelings  outraged  at  the 
beginning  of  his  college-course  by  the  rough  scenes  and 
midnight  hazing  with  which  he  was  greeted,  after  having 
been  himself  put  to  bed,  and  smoked  out,  and  otherwise 
made  to  suffer  for  the  privilege  of  coming  up  to  Cam- 
oridge,  and  after  having  resolved  that  it  was  all  unworthy 
of  gentlemen,  and  that,  for  his  part,  he  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  we  find  him,  very  soon  after  his  return,  set- 
ting himself  up  for  a  tjTant  and  a  hazer,  against  all  his 
better  convictions,  and  going  the  very  way  which  he  had 
resolved  against. 

We  do  not  attempt  to  defend  him,  much  less  to  anatyze 
the  reasons,  if  there  were  any,  which  led  to  this  result. 
Alas !  the  actions  of  youth  of  his  age  and  temperament 
are  not  always  to  be  explained  by  reasons,  or  at  least  by 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  123 

reasons  that  would  find  favor  with  matuier  critics.  If  he 
were  an  orthodox  puppet-hero,  whom  I  might  twitch  and 
pull  this  way  or  that,  perhaps  the  unities  would  demand 
that  he  rise  superior  to  his  surroundings,  and  we  might 
already  behold  the  sprouting  of  his  young  wings  for  an 
early  translation.  But  he  is  no  such  "  goody  "  young 
man  or  premature  cherub ;  and,  if  timid  readers  are  un- 
willing to  hear  of  the  trials  and  pitfalls  which  awaited  him, 
they  will  do  well  to  skip  this  chapter,  and  not  only  this, 
but  his  entire  sophomore  j^ear :  for,  by  his  diary,  I  see 
that  we  are  promised  fairer  sailing  in  the  latter  half  of  his 
course ;  though  he  would  be  no  Hammersmith,  if  his 
instincts  did  not  infallibly  guide  him  into  whatever  of 
danger  or  adventure  even  that  period  of  comparative  quiet 
had  to  offer. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  Penhallow,  his  merry  chum,  was 
partly  to  blame.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Freemantle  and 
Tufton,  and  the  rest  with  whom  he  prowled,  were  partly 
accountable  for  the  change  in  him.  It  may  be  that  Gol- 
die's  rather  hasty  words  of  condemnation  of  his  relations 
to  Tufton  spurred  him  on.  Doubtless,  too,  his  early  train- 
ing, which  had  kept  him  too  carefully  at  home,  and  away 
from  the  larks  and  scrapes,  and  boisterous  doings,  of  boys 
of  Ms  age,  was  another  cause. 

But,  bless  you !  do  not  imagine  that  Mr.  Tom  gave 
these  reasons  to  himself,  or  gave  any  reasons.  These  are 
merely  my  conjectures  and  yours ;  and  that  fiery  young 
sophomore  would  resent  with  scorn  the  throwing  of  blame 
upon  anybody  but  himself  (if  blame  is  to  be  given) ,  and 
ttould  maintain  simply  that  he  did  thus  and  so  because  all 
the  fellows  did,  and  it  was  fun.  I  make  no  doubt,  that, 
while  delivering  this  speech,  he  would  look  you  frankly  in 
the  e}'e,  and  smile  so  pleasantly  and  honestly,  that  even 
'you  would  forget  to  blame  the  lad,  my  dear  Icicle,  and 
"would  join  in  his  smile,  and  say,  laughing,  "  Well,  boys 
iv/11  be  boys  after  all." 


124  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  Blood}"  Monday  night "  had  been  passed  as  usual. 
Tom  arid  his  friends  had  passed  the  evening  in  visiting 
various  freshman  rooms  outside  and  inside  the  quadran- 
gle, spending  most  of  it  in  Goldie's  old  quarters,  No.  1, 
Holworthy.  It  was,  indeed,  with  very  odd,  changed  feel- 
ing- that  they  lounged  into  the  familiar  entry,  through 
the  old  oak,  where  they  had  entered  as  freshmen  so  often, 
and  sat  now  quizzing  and  dragooning  their  successors  in 
this  ancient  fortress. 

Men  had  been  ducked  under  the  town-pump  ;  men  had 
been  led  blindfolded  into  the  river  until  they  were  over 
their  heads.  One  3'orrng  freshman  had  been  sewed  up  in 
a  bag,  and  hung  out  of  his  window  all  night ;  another,  for 
too  early  sporting  a  beaver,  had  been  left  similarly  con- 
fined all  night  in  the  marshes,  where  he  contracted  a  cold 
with  which  he  left  Cambridge  —  never  to  return.  Brave 
men  had  darted  forward  in  the  darkness,  thrown  a  stone 
or  two  through  a  freshman's  window,  and  run  for  their 
lives,  conscious  "of  great  prowess.  At  the  traditional 
hour  the  time-honored  cobble-stone  was  hurled  through 
the  windows  of  Ilolworthy  1,  carrying  half  a  sash  with  it. 
Buckets  of  water  had  been  lowered  from  upper  windows, 
and  swung  with  a  crash  into  freshmen's  rooms  below.  A 
whole  regiment  of  }Toungsters  had  been  put  to  bed  together, 
In  a  Stoughton  room,  on  the  floor,  in  the  beds,  in  window- 
seats,  on  top  of  the  bureau.  "  Greek  crosses,"  a  fear- 
ful bugbear  to  un-Moslem  freshmen,  had  been  erected 
in  many  a  trembling  fellow's  room,  when  the  smallest 
man  was  sure  to  be  flattened  on  the  floor,  and  the  largest 
to  surmount  the  pile  with  unhappy  weight.  In  fact,  all 
the  enginery  of  the  small  warfare  had  been  emphryed 
against  the  new-comers,  who  had  begun,  before  many 
days,  to  discuss  the  relative  cruelty  of  their  tormentors  as 
une  might  argue  the  points  of  a  state  measure,  or  the 
character  of  a  sovereign,  simply  as  a  matter  of  course,  in 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  125 

nrhich  one's  owii  feelings,  pro  or  co?t,  wore  not  for  a  mo- 
ment to  be  considered. 

There  had  been  a  variety  of  excesses  of  late,  however, 
which  the  faculty  had  thought  best  to  notice,  and  condemn 
by  formal  proclamation.  Several  men  had  been  warned, 
several  "  private  admonitions  "  had  been  sent  home  to 
alarmed  parents  and  guardians,  and  the  proctors  were 
ordered  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  certain  suspected  indi- 
viduals, and  to  repress  all  disturbance  in  the  quadrangle. 

As  a  natural  answer  to  this  challenge  of  the  college 
government,  therefore,  the  bold  sophomore  youth  had 
arranged  for  a  mighty  coup  some  time  before  the  Thanks- 
giving recess.  There  was  to  be  a  hazing  party  the  like 
of  which  had  never  been  seen  before.  Everybody  was 
invited  to  join  whose  presence  could  be  of  the  least  ser- 
vice ;  all  except  sticklers  and  originals  like  Breese  and 
the  "  Sculpin"  (as  little  Totman  was  called  by  Air.  Tom 
and  others) ,  who  were  carefully  excluded  as  not  only  use- 
less co-efficients,  but  possible  marplots.  All  the  rooms 
outside  the  yard  were  to  he  visited ;  and  it  was  arranged, 
that,  if  proctors  made  their  appearance,  every  man  was  to 
stand  his  ground,  and  a  dozen  fellows  provided  with  masks 
and  disguises  should  undertake  to  dispose  of  them ;  how,  • 
was  left  to  the  exigencies  of  the  moment,  and  the  temper 
which  the  proctors  might  see  fit  to  exhibit. 

Perhaps,  now,  some  hilarious  young  readers  of  Ham- 
mersmith's biography  may  expect  that  I  am  to  lead  them 
with   circumstantial   description    (as   of  "Baedeker"    or 
"  Murray")  along  the  route  of  these  merry  young  sopho- 
mores one  dark  night  in  early  full,  — a  route  whiph  they 
eft  strewn  with  freshman  wrecks.     But  they  will  be  mis- 
taken.    How  the  band   of  huzers   visited  one  freshman 
after  another,  and  went  through  with  what  devilish  or  sim- 
ply grotesque  performance  the  moment  and  the  chief  tor 
'  mentor  suggested  ;  how  a  deputation  from  the  Massachu- 


126  HAMMERSMITH : 

setts  Humane  Society,  headed  by  Commodore  Whirlpool, 
was  pleased  to  instruct  the  youthful  freshman,  Algernon 
\rcrnon  Beverly  ("  Lord,  what  a  name !  So  small,  and 
all  that  handle  to  you !  ' '  exclaimed  the  commodore)  in 
the  graceful  and  eminently  useful  art  of  natation,  making 
use  of  the  3~outh's  study-stable  as  a  swimming-bath,  — 
"the  Massachusetts  Humane  Society  especially  recom- 
mends the  use  of  the  tabula  rasa  in  this  course  of  instruc- 
tion," explained  the  learned  commodore  ;  how  the  Albert- 
sou  brothers,  a  brace  of  blue-ej'cd  freshmen  who  came  up 
to  Cambridge  with  the  reputation  of  fine  oarsmen,  were 
made  in  the  dead  of  night  to  strip  to  boating-costume,  and 
pull  a  ghostlj*  race  for  the  championship  of  their  room, 
seated  on  a  Latin  and  a  Greek  lexicon,  and  encouraged  by 
such  shouts  as  "  Two  to  one  on  the  blue  !  "  "  Five  dol- 
lars my  man  turns  the  stake  first!"  "Go  it,  red!" 
"  Lift  her  on  the  beginning  of  the  stroke  !  "  "  Oh,  nobly 
rowed !  see  how  he  reaches ! ' '  and  so  on  ;  how  this  man 
had  his  head  shaved,  and  that  one  had  his  furniture  thrown 
into  the  street ;  this  man  smoked  into  blindness,  that  one 
baptized  under  the  convenient  pump ;  how  Madam  Rip- 
raps, the  famous  boarding-house  mistress,  was  for  calling 
the  police  when  her  premises  were  invaded,  and  was  only 
with  difficult}'  pacified  by  Goldie  and  others,  — these  and 
many  other  things  were  among  the  incidents  of  that  long- 
drawn  night,  on  which  we  may  well  drop  the  curtain. 

They  order  these  things  better  under  the  new  regime; 
und  it  is  not  pleasant  to  exhibit  practices  more  fit  for  the 
pages  of  the  ' '  Newgate  Calendar ' '  than  for  a  chronicle  of 
nineteenth-century  lads  calling  themselves  gentlemen. 

All  freshman  Cambridge,  then,  was  visited,  and  ulti- 
mately put  to  bed  with  friendly  wishes  for  ' '  pleasant 
dreams,  Freshy  !  "  the  sophomores  parading  the  town  with 
regular  tramp,  singing  stout  choruses  when  they  were 
weh1  away  from  the  college  neighborhood ;  while  placid 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  127 

Cambridge  burghers,  pressing  the  domestic  pillow,  turned 
in  their  disturbed  sleep,  grumbling,  "There  they  are,  at 
it  again  !  Confound  those  students  !  "  — "  Yes,  dear,  what 
a  frightful  noise  !  I  hope  Harry  isn't  with  them." 

Thus  they  paraded  through  the  town,  leaving  despair 
and  dismay  in  their  wake,  together  with  Gimlet,  and  one 
or  two  of  his  brother-officers,  who  followed  to  see  that 
dismay  and  despair  did  not  take  to  themselves  fists  or 
weapons,  and  engage  with  roistering  tyranny,  and  that 
tyranny  itself  did  not  relapse  into  license  and  the  destruc- 
tion of  municipal  propertjr  as  well  as  the  sleep  of  inno- 
cent tax-payers. 

It  is  always  pleasant  to  have  a  friend  at  court,  if  it  be 
only  a  police-court.  With  divers  friendly  advances,  and 
more  substantial  ditto  in  various  forms,  Mr.  Tom,  fol- 
lowing Tufton's  advice  (which  my  lord  had  imparted  from 
a  full  experience) ,  had  long  ago  secured  such  an  ally  in 
the  person  of  Gimlet  above  mentioned  ;  said  Gimlet  being 
a  portly  ' '  peeler ' '  farthest  removed  from  the  shape  of  his 
insinuating  namesake,  but  possessed  of  a  crafty  penetra- 
tion of  student  tactics,  which  the  wary  would  rather  allay 
than  brave.  And  the  Gimlet,  too,  had  worked  himself 
into  Tom's  good  graces  by  many  a  favorable  turn  too 
numerous  to  mention,  till  he  came  to  be  considered  al- 
most in  the  light  of  a  protecting  genius  by  the  young 
gentleman  in  question,  who  felt  safe,  and  not  only  safe, 
but  sure  of  himself,  which  was  more  important,  with  that 
burly  guardian  of  the  night  in  his  wake,  as  to-night.  Mr. 
Tom's  assurance  that  it  was  "  all  right,  no  disturbance  of 
the  pease  intended,"  was  enough  to  satisfy  an  easy  con- 
science keenly  alive  to  a  sense  of  benefits  to  accrue  ;  and 
Gimlet  and  his  friends  waddled  after  the  crowd,  smoking 
much  better  cigars  than  usual,  Gimlet,  for  his  part, 
thinking,  in  moments  of  fat  reflection,  how  vastly  better 
was  this  than  patrolling  the  purlieus  of  New  York  as  of 
/ore. 


128  HAMMERSMITH : 

The  gray  of  night  was  shading  into  a  faint  yellow  on 
Its  eastern  edge  when  the  crowd  was  nearing  Harvard 
Square  again.  Many  men  had  dropped  away,  tired  01 
sleepy ;  but  Tom  and  Tufton,  and  several  of  our  friends, 
remained,  warned,  by  a  growing  viciousness  in  the  tortures, 
^iat  a  restraint  might  be  necessary  on  the  reckless  fellows 
who  had  been  conducting  most  of  the  hazing  in  the  latter 
part  of  tLe  night. 

They  were  in  the  room  of  a  very  young  freshman,  just 
above  Church  Street.  They  had  roused  him  from  sleep, 
and  bis  peaceful  dreams  of  home  and  friends  and  his  col- 
lege-life, —  so  new  to  him  3Tet, —  and  had  set  him  on  the 
table,  looking  very  white  from  head  to  foot,  and  quailing 
before  their  roughness.  The}T  had  about  finished  with 
him ;  had  made  him  read  aloud,  with  appropriate  ges- 
tures, a  letter  from  his  mother,  which  had  been  found 
open  on  a  writing-desk  ;  and  the  little  fellow's  quavering 
voice,  and  eyes  filling  with  tears  (for  it  was  a  simple, 
touching  home-letter),  made  more  than  one  man  in  the 
throng  blush  for  himself  and  the  work  in  which  he  was 
engaged. 

Ladbroke,  a  bull-necked  sophomore  who  had  just  en- 
tered the  class  as  fresh-soph,  —  a  swaggering,  brutal- 
looking  fellow,  flashily  dressed,  —  was  acting  as  chief 
tormentor  just  now ;  and  it  was  largely  on  that  account 
that  Tom  and  Goldie  and  others  remained.  They  hated 
the  looks  of  the  man  ;  and  they  did  not  know  to  what  his 
diablerie  might  lead  if  he  were  not  watched. 

When  the  little  freshman  was  through  his  letter,  and 
Ladbroke  had  made  a  variety  of  coarse  comments  on  it, 
calling  the  freshman  a  "young  sniveller,"  a  "mammy- 
darling,"  and  so  on,  he  told  him  to  hustle  away  into  his 
trundle-bed,  like  the  baby  that  he  was. 

"  See  here,  though  !  "  he  shouted  with  an  oath,  "  what 
•Jo  you  mean  by  going  to  bed  without  saying  your  prayers  ? 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  129 

Down  on  }-our  knees  here,  j-ou  little  hypocrite  !  Say  your 
prayers  now !  " 

But  this  was  too  much ;  and  when  the  little  man  turned 
his  eyes  appealingly  and  forlorn!}-  at  Ladbroke,  as  if  he 
said,  "  Can  it  be  possible  that  you  mean  what  you  say  ?  " 
Hammersmith  (God,  bless  him  !)  stepped  forward  by  the 
freshman,  and  faced  Ladbroke. 

"  Come  now,  Ladbroke,  this  is  going  a  little  too  far! 
You've  no  right  to  ask  him  to  do  that." 

"  '  No  right ' !     What  do  you  mean  by  '  no  right '  ?  " 

"I  mean  what  I  say.  There's  a  limit  to  all  things !  — 
Don't  3'ou  sa}-  so,  fellows?  "  said  Tom,  tossing  a  look  to 
the  crowd. 

"I'd  like  to  know  who's  going  to  stop  me,  that's  all! 
—  Come,  freshman !  " 

"  I'm  going  to  stop  }-ou,  if  you  aren't  gentleman  enough 
to  hold  off  yourself !  I  swear,  by  Jove !  this  thing  shall 
not  go  on !  "  shouted  Tom. 

Ladbroke  looked  to  the  other  men,  to  see  if  they  would 
stand  b}-  him ;  but  they  shook  their  heads,  and  muttered, 
"  Better  leave  off,  Ladbroke  !  "  "  Little  fellow's  a  pretty 
tender  chicken!"  "Rather  rough  on  him,  I  think!" 
And,  like  man}-  another  coward  and  bully,  he  ate  his  own 
words,  and  backed  down  before  the  unflinching  Hammer- 
smith, who  told  the  freshman  to  go  to  bed,  and  forget  the 
fellow's  words  if  he  could ;  and  they  left. 

Ladbroke  had  backed  down,  to  be  sui'e  ;  but  he  mingled 
with  his  cronies,  muttering  against  Tom,  and  sore  in 
Uis  flabby  spirit  to  have  been  balked  before  the  whole 
;rowd.  He  was  a  dangerous  man  to  have  for  an  enemy : 
but  Tom  did  not  think  of  that  when  he  stepped  forward 
to  champion  the  freshman  ;  nor  would  he  have  hesitated, 
if  he  had  thought  of  it,  as  I  am  happy  to  believe. 

But  the  party  was  broken  up  by  this  contretemps;  Lad- 
*  broke  and  his  few  pals  going  off  to  some  much-to-be- com 


130  HAMMERSMITH : 

miserated  freskmen  on  Brattle  Street,  and  Tom  and  the 
rest  returning  to  their  rooms.  They  crept  noiselessly  tc 
their  various  "pens,"  as  an  able  but  caustic  feminine 
critic  has  called  the  hard-featured  quarters  of  those  days  : 
whence,  in  a  few  moments,  they  heard  the  cry  of  "  Proc- 
tors, proctors  !  "  and  saw  the  Ladbroke  companj7  scuny 
ing  through  the  quadrangle  in  flight. 

Later  in  the  day,  for  the  sun  was  now  tipping  with 
light  the  spire  of  the  church  opposite,  Wasson  and 
Lytton  were  found  to  have  been  the  only  captures.  Was- 
son, as  a  rusticated  man  who  had  no  business  in  town  on 
an}7  pretext  without  leave,  was  formally  expelled  from 
the  university,  and  ordered  to  leave  Cambridge  within 
twenty-four  hours.  Lytton,  a  harmless  dawdler  in  the 
last  end  of  the  class,  of  whom  nobody  had  a  word  to  say 
for  good  or  bad,  except  that  he  swelled  the  numbers  of 
his  class,  and  was  a  graceful  smoker,  was  rusticated  till 
second  term. 

How  the  class,  as  one  man,  rallied  about  these  two 
men,  the  first  to  be  suspended  or  expelled  in  term-time  ! 
How  they  magnified  their  heroism  with  the  proctors,  and 
looked  up  to  them  as  they  moved  about,  this  last  day  of 
Wasson's,  collecting  their  effects,  and  taking  leave  of 
their  old  quarters ! 

Toward  evening,  when  all  Cambridge  is  humming  with 
the  news  of  the  vast  hazing  of  the  night  before,  a  hack  is 
seen  drawn  up  at  one  of  .the  corners  of  Holyoke  Street ; 
and  presently  the  entire  sophomore  class  comes  marching 
down  the  street,  escorting  the  two  men.  They  cheer,  and 
hug  the  men  and  each  other,  and  dance  about  the  hack, 
and  the  horses  leap  forward,  and  the  two  men  are  gone, 
waving  their  hats  till  they  are  out  of  sight,  and  then,  for 
the  first  time,  sinking  back  upon  the  reflection  what  sorrj1 
young  idiots  the}'  are. 


HIS   HARVA11D  DAYS.  131 

The  class  goes  back  to  the  square,  very  hoarse  an J  very 
hungry ;  and  '.he  men  separate,  saying  among  themselves, 
"It's  too  bad!  They're  mighty  nice  felloes,  aren't 
they?'' 

£ 


132  HAMMERSMITH: 


CHAPTER  X. 

A   LITTLE   ACTRESS   IN   MORE    SENSES   THAN   ONE. 

"  The  strings  of  the  harp  are  wet  while  the  bard  repeats  thy  tale." 

FROM  THE  NOBSB. 
"  Malum  est  osculum,  labia  veuenum  sunt."  —  MOSCHUS. 

npUFTON'S  drag,  which  that  young  gentleman  was 
-*-  wont  to  use  to  convey  himself  about  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Cambridge,  with  its  flashing  red  wheels,  and  dark 
ba}^  horse  sporting  a  carefully  "banged"  tail,  drew  up 
suddenly  on  Mason  Street,  in  the  rear  of  the  Boston 
Theatre.  Tufton  threw  the  lines  to  an  hostler,  bespoken 
at  Garcelon's  as  he  passed  ;  and  by  the  light  of  the  street- 
lamps  and  a  bulbous  luminary  over  the  small  rear-door  of 
the  theatre,  the  street  urchins  and  wistful  outcasts  gath- 
ered on  the  spot  saw  Mr.  Tufton  and  our  friend  Tom  leap 
lightly  from  the  drag,  and  approach  the  private  entrance, 
where  hunying  actors,  men  and  women  and  children, 
were  admitted  momently. 

A  quick  knock,  and  the  small  door  was  moved  cau- 
tious by,  and  then  thrown  obsequiousby  open,  as  the  well- 
known  face  of  Tufton  appeared.  He  entered  with  Tom, 
prcsj-ing  the  usual  douceur  into  the  palm  of  the  aged  ser- 
vitor as  he  passed,  and  presently  emerged  through  a  nar- 
row dark  passage  upon  a  wilderness  of  flats  and  scenes 
and  stage-effects. 

"  Ah,  Garibaldi,  how  do?  "  said  Tufton,  as  a  figure  of 
r.mple  circumference,  in  a  faded  velvet  coat  and  brilliant 
neckerchief,  came  slowly  into  view  up  a  subterranean 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  133 

stairway  at  their  feet.  "  Eh  —  cosi,  cosi,"  returned  he  of 
the  velvets,  producing  a  capacious  silk  handkerchief,  and 
mopping  himself  vigorously,  his  small  dark  eyes  looking 
piercingly  at  Mr.  Tom. 

"  This  is  my  friend  Mr.  Johnson.  We'd  like  to  go  on 
to-night  if  you've  no  objection,"  said  Tufton;  and  Tom 
felt  a  bit  suspicious  of  a  place  where  a  changed  name 
seemed  a  necessary  safeguard,  but  said  nothing,  and 
bowed  to  Garibaldi,  head  functionary  of  the  lower  regions 
and  supernumeraries. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  answered  Garibaldi.  "  You 
be  a  leetle  late :  curtain  is  rising  in  five  minutes.  But  I 
keep  two  suits  for  you :  I  have  expect  you.  Make  all  the 
haste  is  possible,  if  you  please  ;  "  and  Garibaldi's  fat  palm 
received  the  same  beneficent  touch  as  the  ancient  door- 
keeper's, while  our  3*oung  gentlemen  descended  a  rickety 
flight  of  steps  to  a  musty  dres sing-room  under  the  stage. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  two  had  been  to  the 
theatre  together.  Much  less  was  it  the  first  time  that 
they  had  been  in  to  beat  the  town  of  a  night,  and  drive 
out  at  a  furious  pace,  in  time  for  a  brief  nap  before  Tom's 
morning  prayers  ;  Tufton,  happy  sleeper,  having  no  clang 
of  bell,  or  rushing  to  cold  chapel,  to  disturb  his  matutinal 
rest,  but  dozing  away  peacefully  in  his  pretty  littlo  pink- 
hung  bed,  after  a  night  out,  till  his  man  Jordan  bethought 
him  that  his  lord  had  had  rest  enough,  and  came  in  to 
wake  him.  But  it  was  the  first  time  that  Tom  had  entered 
the  mysterious  regions  in  which  they  were  now  laying 
aside  their  nineteenth-century  envelopes,  and  donning  tha 
tawdry  splendor  of  a  bygone  civilization ;  the  first  timo 
that  he  had  looked  on  the  reverse  side  of  the  great  stage- 
curtain  hanging  before  the  vast  spaces  which  reach  uo- 
wards  into  nowhere,  and  sidewise  into  passages  lumbered 
ivitli  the  paraphernalia  of  illusion. 
*  Tufton,  as  has  been  implied,  was  an  old  hand  at  this 


134  HAMMEilSMITH : 

sort  of  thing.  When  the  two  emerged  as  knights  of 
the  middle  ages,  crusaders,  janizaries,  mounted  police, 
or  whatever  kind  of  fugleman  was  meant  to  be  indicated 
by  their  motley  magnificence,  Mr.  Tom  was  not  a  little 
amazed  at  my  Lord  Tufton's  sang-froid,  and  familiarity 
with  the  gods  of  the  stage,  little  and  big. 

He  nodded  familiarty  to  the  chief  actors ;  had  a  word 
for  each  of  the  smaller  fry  (whom  he  called  by  their 
Christian  names  in  many  cases) ,  and  a  joke  or  a  compli- 
ment, in  a  low  voice,  for  the  gauzy  young  girls  that  were 
encountered  at  every  turn,  seated  on  old  trunks  and 
chairs,  or  a  green  bank  temporarily  out  of  use,  or  leaning 
wearily  against  the  flats,  their  faces  wofully  frescoed  with 
paints  and  rouge.  Some  of  these  my  lord  treated  with 
even  more  familiarity,  chucking  them  under  the  chin,  or 
chaffing  them  on  their  get-up,  or  standing  long  with  one 
and  another  of  them  in  absorbed  whispering. 

In  fact,  he  was  quite  another  Tufton  from  him  that  Tom 
knew  in  Cambridge.  Tom  wondered  at  the  sudden  ease 
with  which  he  seemed  to  have  thrown  off  his  mask  of 
reserve  and  restraint,  habitually  worn  in  the  university 
neighborhood,  and  appeared  as  a  jolly,  off-hand  young 
party,  with  a  laugh  and  a  joke  for  ever3rbody  and  every 
thing.  There  was  many  a  mask  to  come  off,  and  many 
a  curtain  to  be  removed  for  Mr.  Tom,  with  ah1  his  boasted 
knowledge  and  self-sufficiency,  before  he  could  see  the 
world  as  it  is,  alas  !  But  he  was  fated  to  learn  it  by  bitter 
experience,  like  the  rest  of  us  ;  and  it  is  perhaps  well  that 
it  is  so.  The  lesson  is  vastly  better  remembered  thus 
learned ;  and  it  is,  perhaps,  a  kinder  dispensation  that 
confident  youth  should  go  on  believing  and  trusting,  and 
making  their  young  mistakes  for  a  while,  than  that  we 
should  tell  them  of  the  shams  and  failures,  and  to- 
morrow's disappointment  which  await  them,  and  so  rob 
tife  of  half  the  joy  of  its  expectancy. 


HIS  HAEVAED  DAYS.  135 

Tufton  introduced  Tom  to  some  of  these  much-painted 
young  women  in  abbreviated  draperies  ;  and  though  "  my 
friend  Johnson  "  was  a  handsome,  keen-eyed  fellow,  who 
ought  to  have  known  better,  and  didn't  look  as  green  as 
he  in  reality  was,  he  blushed  like  a  schoolgirl,  and  fiddled 
with  his  belt  or  his  uncomfortable  helmet,  and,  like  the 
man  in  "Punch,"  had  "  absolute!}7  no  conversation  "  fitted 
for  the  occasion.  Tufton  rallied  him  on  it  when  they 
were  on  their  way  home.  But  Tom  said,  "Pooh!  non- 
sense !  You  don't  suppose  I  was  going  to  say  what  I  had 
to  say  before  you  and  the  rest  of  them,"  implying  that 
he  was  elaborately  eloquent  when  he  had  the  field  to  him- 
self. But,  at  the  same  time,  he  felt  that  it  would  take 
a  long  apprenticeship  to  equal  his  master  Tufton  in  his 
nonchalant  gallantry  and  adaptability.  Nevertheless,  he 
vowed  that  he  would  be  "  even  with  my  Lord  Tufton  yet." 

Later  in  their  career,  they  will  not  deign  always  to 
incase  themselves  in  these  rusty  velvets  and  fustian  gar- 
ments as  to-night,  when  they  are  performing  their  great 
roles  as  armed  retainers  to  the  evil  genius  of  the  nether 
realms  in  the  moving  spectacular  drama  of  "  The  Emer- 
ald Grotto,"  with  its  nymphs  of  ne  quid  nimis  draperies, 
its  clap-trap  effects,  its  judgment-day  of  red  lights.  Later 
in  then-  career  they  will  saunter  in  as  others  of  the  jeu- 
nesse  doree  to  ogle  the  players  languidly,  or  stand  at  the 
flats  to  receive  some  especially-to-be-congratulated  actress 
as  she  comes  off,  or  chat  for  a  while  with  Boggle,  the  sub- 
manager,  as  he  sits  smoking  his  inevitable  clay  pipe. 

But  it  is  all  so  fresh  and  dazzling  to  Tom  to-night,  that 
he  rushes  into  every  new  scene  with  a  spirit  which  he  will 
soon  lose  ;  my  Lord  Tufton  graciously  feigning  an  enthusi- 
asm which  he  cannot  in  reality  feel,  out  of  regard  for  Mr. 
Tom's  novitiate,  or  perhaps  from  a  more  sinister  motive, 
which  ma}-  appear  later. 

Now,  you  are  not  to  suppose  that  Mr.  Tom  became  a 


136  HAMMERSMITH : 

regular  attache  of  the  green-room,  like  j^onder  plump  Jla> 
neur  by  the  flats  there,  nightly  on  hand  with  his  nosegay 
for  a  favorite  actress ;  or  that  he  eloped  with  the  "  first 
walking-lady ;  "  or  did  any  thing  else  especially  extraor- 
dinary, and  unbecoming  a  }'oung  gentleman  of  his  high 
honor.  But  when  Tufton  came  bowling  into  Cambridge 
of  an  afternoon  in  his  drag,  as  Tom  was  coming  from 
recitation,  and,  pulling  his  horse  up  on  his  haunches,  in- 
vited Tom  so  cheerily,  —  "  Come,  Hammersmith,  let's  go 
in  to  the  Boston  to-night :  we'll  take  a  bite  at  Parker's, 
and  tool  round  to  the  play  afterwards,"  —  what  especial 
reason  was  there  for  refusing?  It  was  very  pleasant  to 
toss  his  books  to  a  friend,  and  saying,  "  Here,  Jack,  just 
throw  these  down  in  my  entry,  will  you  ?  "  to  jump  into 
the  shining  drag,  and  whirl  off  at  a  spanking  trot  for  town. 
Less  fortunate  fellows  looked  at  him  enviously ;  and 
under- classmen  wagged  the  head  of  admiration,  sa}Ting 
among  themselves,  "  Deused  rakish  pair  of  fellows,  eh?  " 
— all  which  the  observant  Tom  saw  and  enjoyed,  j-ou  may 
be  sure,  as  do  most  others  who  are  riding  on  the  top-wave, 
as  they  imagine,  and  looking  down  upon  those  in  the 
trough  of  the  sea. 

So  that  many  a  night  in  the  fall,  and  during  the  long 
winter-season,  the  old  gentleman  under  the  bulbous  lumi- 
nary opened  his  little  door  for  the  young  reprobates,  the 
younger  of  whom  was  rapidly  feeling  the  different  rounds 
of  the  ladder  which  he  had  set  for  himself,  and  rapidly 
becoming  a  worthy  peer  of  my  Lord  Tufton  in  the  dubious 
arena.  My  lord  was  a  skilful  diplomate  in  this,  as  in  all 
other  things  ;  and,  knowing  his  man  now  pretty  thorough- 
ly, he  pla}-ed  his  cards  with  an  adroitness  worthy  of  n 
better  game. 

Meanwhile  the  "  autumn  twilights  in  all  their  melan- 
choly," of  which  De  Guerin  speaks,  had  come  and  gone 
Long-drawn  winter  evenings  and  the  small  routs  of  Cam 


HIS   HARVAKD   DAYS.  137 

bridge  society  came  on,  and  Tom  was  often  in  request  at 
the  many  houses  where  he  had  entrance. 

College-clubs  and  secret  societies  were  again  in  full 
blast ;  and  Tom,  with  many  of  his  friends,  had  been  ini- 
tiated with  due  solemnity  into  a  Greek-letter  society,  the 
very  name  of  which  as  only  a  rumored  existence  had 
almost  frozen  his  young  freshman  blood  but  a  short  year 
ago  :  (how  rapidly  he  seemed  to  himself  to  be  aging,  and 
putting  on  the  airs  of  wisdom !)  the  transcript  of  its 
fateful  three  letters  to  these  pages  would  be  followed  by 
I  know  not  what  dire  consequences  to  Hammersmith  and 
his  biographer  alike.  But  when  I  say  that  he  was  blind- 
folded, and  taken  in  charge  by  his  initiators  in  a  distant 
field  of  Cambridge,  led  and  driven  and  ridden  for  miles 
about  the  town,  dipped  into  the  river,  pushed  from  stone 
walls,  finally  rammed  clown  a  coal-hole  on  a  certain  side- 
walk, and  received  by  brother  initiators  below,  whence  he 
was  conducted  up  stairs,  and  subjected  to  the  society  rack 
of  torture  ("°0  xvxAo^,  6  afatdegos,  6  fi).d'/xETog,  brothers  "  ), 
fellow-members  of  his  at  least  may  know  where  to  place 
him,  and  may  know  also  the  grip  which  he  was  taught, 
which  he  used  so  exultantly  for  a  few  }Tears,  and  then 
utterly  forgot. 

Sophomore  class-supper,  too,  had  come  on  in  the  short 
Thanksgiving  recess  ;  and  the  dining-haU  of  Porter's  had 
echoed  till  long  past  midnight  with  the  speeches  and 
toasts,  the  shouts  and  songs,  common  to  those  festive 
occasions.  Freemantle  had  presided  with  an  easy  grace 
which  became  him  well.  Trimble's  fluty  tenor  enabled 
him  to  fill  his  role  of  chorister  with  immense  success. 
And  our  friend  Hammersmith,  as  toast-master,  quite  out- 
did himself  with  the  wit  an  i  appropriateness  and  happy 
rendering  of  the  many  sentiments  which  he  provided,  and 
to  which  the  freer  rein  of  the  later  revelry  allowed  a  la  'ge 
'  liberty  of  addition  by  enthusiastic  classmates  Hammer- 


138  HAMMERSMITH : 

smith,  indeed,  had  made  a  strenuous  effort  to  have  Tuf- 
ton  admitted  as  a  friend  and  entertainer  of  so  many  men 
in  the  class.  But  Albemarle,  the  champion  of  precedent 
and  prerogative,  Goldie,  and,  in  fact,  almost  everybody 
but  Tom  and  a  few  of  Tufton's  especial  pals,  pooh-poohed 
the  idea  from  the  start ;  and  it  was  only  Tom's  well-known 
vivacity,  cleverness,  and  sang-froid  (the  last  so  largely 
learned  under  Tufton's  tutorship),  that  overcame  the  ob- 
jections which  this  advocacy  of  Tufton's  admission  had 
raised  against  him,  and  that  elected  him  toast-master  of 
the  evening. 

It  was  no  disgraceful  orgy,  I  am  happy  to  sa}r,  as  were 
so  many  sophomore  suppers  in  the  days  before  the  flood. 
There  was  the  restraining  influence  of  an  exceptionally 
gentlemanly  and  refined  chairman,  who  discountenanced 
all  excess ;  and  the  presence  of  almost  the  entire  class, 
many  of  them  sober  to  abstinence,  all  drawn  together  by 
that  esprit  de  corps  which  is  so  pleasant  a  growth  of 
college-life,  source  of  many  errors  and  false  judgments 
though  it  may  be.  And  although  there  was  a  prodigious 
rapping  of  tables  towards  the  close  of  the  feast,  and  much 
part-singing  not  put  down  in  the  "  Arion ;  "  and  although 
Ladbroke  wanted  to  fight  a  waiter  for  telling  him  the 
champagne  was  out ;  and  Pinckney,  who  had  just  returned 
to  Cambridge,  was  toasted  and  pledged  till  he  grew  quite 
uproarious  and  confidential  by  turns,  —  there  was  no  wild 
scene,  or  whirlwind  of  termination,  such  as  the  old  hotel 
has  seen  many  a  time  before  and  since,  I  doubt  not. 

Little  Oliver's  poem,  too,  was  received  with  shouts  of 
applause,  particularly  his  allusions  to  the  faculty,  in  sol- 
emn spondaic  verse,  and  his  gratulations  over  the  success 
of  the  class-crew,  which  were  delivered  in  rattling  dactyls. 
And  at  last,  when  everybody  was  tired  of  his  own  merri- 
ment,  and  the  stoutest  reveller  could  shout  no  more,  thej 
broke  up  with  three  ringing  cheers,  which  shook  the  lights 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  139 

on  the  tables,  and  woke  the  sleepiest  cattle-driver  in  the 
farthest  room  of  the  bovine  hotel ;  and  marched  back  to 
Cambridge  in  the  frosty  night-air,  singing  mighty  choruses 
as  they  went. 

During  all  this  time,  the  visits  of  Tufton  and  Tom  to 
the  stage  of  the  theatre  were  kept  up  with  tolerable  regu- 
larity ;  and  Tom,  in  accordance  with  Tufton' s  divination, 
and  almost  as  if  in  answer  to  an  expressed  wish,  began 
more,and  more  to  withdraw  his  interest  from  general  fea- 
tures, and  concentrate  it  on  particulars. 

"  Tufton,"  said  Tom  one  evening  in  midwinter,  as  they 
were  watching  the  stage  from  their  usual  place  (marked 
L.  M.  in  stage-directions),  "  seems  to  me  the  Queen  of 
Love  is  hardly  as  seductive  a  looking  female  as  might  have 
been  picked  out  for  the  part,"  —  "  The  Emerald  Grotto  " 
had  been  revived  for  a  few  nights,  just  after  the  holidaj's. 

"  I  should  say  not.  Why,  bless  3*ou!  she's  —  how  old 
should  j'ou  think  ?  ' ' 

"  Very  hard  to  say,  with  all  the  toggery  and  war-paint 
she  has  on.  I  should  say  somewhere  near  forty,  to  be 
safe." 

"Forty !  Lord,  Hammersmith,  you'd  never  do  for  a 
fortune-teller !  If  she  ever  sees  sixty  again,  ifc  will  not 
be  in  this  world.  But  it's  the  old  stor}r,  —  drunken  hus- 
band, large  family  of  infant  loves,  kind-hearted  manager. 
3oggle  has  acted  like  a  brick  toward  her,  all  the  company 
sailing  for  her  dismissal,  —  'Too  old,'  'regular  shrew,' 
*  talcing  all  the  chief  parts,'  and  so  on.  But  Boggle  has 
stx>d  by  her  through  it  all ;  saj-s  she'll  never  want  for  a 
place  while  he  has  the  reins,  and  while  she  retains  as  much 
fire  as  she  has  now.  Gad,  she's  not  such  a  bad  actress, 
either !  You  should  have  seen  her  in  '  Pygmalion.'  Half 
the  town  ciazy  about  her  not  over  five  years  ago ;  and 
young  Lumpkin  of  Jamaica  Plain  lost  a  bet  of  a  hundred 
and  fifty  that  she  was  not  over  twenty-five." 


140  HAMMEllSMITH : 

"  More  fool  he,"  said  Tom.  "  I  should  have  known 
oetter  than  that  myself.  But  who  is  that  speaking 
now?" 

"Why,  that's  Boggle's  own  daughter." 

"  What!  "  said  Tom.  "By  Jove,  she's  a  neat  little 
figure !  How  sad-looking,  though,  when  she's  through 
her  speech  !  I  don't  remember  noticing  her  particularly 
when  '  The  Grotto  '  was  on  before." 

"No  wonder!  she  wasn't  in  it;  had  a  long  spell  of 
fever,  and  is  only  back  a  week  now.  You  would  think 
she  had  cause  to  look  sad  if  }'ou  knew  her  histoiy." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  Tom,  bristling 
with  curiositj^. 

"Hush,  not  so  loud!  Old  Boggle!  Tom,  you  will 
hardly  believe  it ;  but  Boggle,  who  is  so  kind  to  Mrs. 
Jacobs,  the  Queen  of  Love  there,  is  a  perfect  brute  to 
his  own  daughter.  I  don't  know  that  I  have  a  right  to 
teU  3'ou,  as  I  only  came  by  it  under  pledge  of  secrecy." 

"Oh,  do  !  "  said  Tom.  "  What's  the  odds?  I'm  sure 
you  can  depend  on  it's  not  going  any  farther  than  me." 

"  Well,  it's  no  great  secret,  after  all.  Everybody  on 
the  stage  knows  how  he  watches  her  while  she's  here, 
never  lets  a  man  speak  to  her,  keeps  her  shut  up  all  the 
time  she's  not  acting.  But  that's  not  so  bad ;  though  I 
did  nearly  have  a  row  when  I  first  came  on,  not  knowing 
the  old  Argus's  squeamishness.  But  the  wa}-  he  treats  her 
outside  is  a  perfect  shame  !  " 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Tom,  feeling  hia 
curiosity  merging  into  a  strong  chivalric  interest  in  the 
young  actress  whose  histoiy  was  so  mysterious  and  so 
sad. 

•  But  Tufton  pretended  to  be  unwilling  to  tell  him  any 
thing  further  where  they  were,  for  fear  of  being  over- 
heard, promising,  however,  to  enlighten  him  on  the  way 
home.  He  knew  very  well  how  a  little  suspense  would  be 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  141 

apt  to  work  with  an  impetuous  3'oung  fellow  like  Tom  ; 
and  he  smiled  to  himself  to  see  that  Tom  followed  the 
actress  in  question  intently  with  his  eyes  the  rest  of  the 
evening,  apparent!}'  noticing  no  one  else. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  manage  to  introduce  me?  " 
asked  Tom. 

"Afraid  not,"  said  Tufton.  "Not  here,  at  an}-  rate. 
See  the  old  boy  watching  her  ?  Perhaps  we  might  manage 
it  some  time,  if  we're  sljr.  But  I  warn  you :  you  may 
put  3"our  foot  in  it  before  you  know  it,  my  boy !  "  Art- 
ful Tufton !  didn't  he  know  that  this  was  the  very  condi- 
tion of  affairs  to  tempt  Tom  on?  Hadn't  he  waited  for 
this  very  conversation  to  spring  up,  fearing,  at  last,  that 
he  might  have  to  broach  the  matter  himself,  and  so  rob 
his  plan  of  its  naturalness  ?  An  oppressed  young  woman 
domineered  by  a  brute  of  a  father ;  dangerous  ground, 
too,  where  Tufton  himself  had  almost  been  mired,  —  what 
conjunction  of  circumstances  could  have  been  imagined 
more  alluring  to  chivalrous  Tom,  eager  for  adventure,  and 
careless  of  danger ! 

"It's  simply  this,"  said  Tufton,  as  they  were  on  their 
way  to  Cambridge.  "  You  saw  what  a  delicate,  sad  little 
piece  she  is.  Well,  sir,  old  Boggle  not  only  takes  every 
cent  of  salary  the  little  girl  earns,  —  and  you  can  imagine 
where  it  goes,"  continued  he,  inverting  his  fist  before  his 
mouth,  —  "but  he  keeps  her  shut  up,  like  a  nun,  in  her 
room  on  Joy  Street,  from  morning  till  night,  doing  what? 
working  at  sewing  and  other  such  jobs  as  are  brought  in. 
And  the  old  villain,  you  can  be  pretty  sure,  receipts  the 
bills  for  them,  and  pockets  the  swag,  as  he  does  the  sala- 
ry !  By  Jove,  no  wonder  she  had  a  fever,  and  was  laid 
up  for  a  month !  And  they  do  say  that  he  has  beaten 
her,  ami  kept  her  shut  up  in  a  closet,  and  done  all  sorts 
of  mean  things  with  her.  But  J  imagine  that  it  is  all 
'exaggerated  a  good  deal:  people  about  a  theatre  are  such 


142  HAMMERSMITH : 

tattlers!     At  any  rate,  the  little  thing  has  had  the  same 
sorrowful  look  ever  since  I've  known  her,  and  "  — 

"  You  know  her !     I  thought  you  did  not." 

"I  can't  say  that  I  do  exactly,"  returned  Tufton 
"  Boggle  has  introduced  me ;  but  I've  never  had  a  chance 
to  see  her  alone :  he's  always  glued  to  her  side,  the  old 
sinner !  and  I've  more  than  half  a  mind  that  she  is  not 
his  daughter,  after  all !  " 

"  What  a  fiend  !  "  shouted  Tom.  "  Is  there  no  way  of 
putting  a  stop  to  his  persecutions?  " 

"  Hardly  see  how,"  answered  Tufton.  "  Oh,  I 
wouldn't  boiTow  any  trouble  about  her  !  She'll  run  away 
some  day,  or  put  a  little  strychnine  on  her  tongue,  and 
then  the  old  brute  will  find  out  what  a  treasure  he  has 
lost.  For  she  seems, — though  remember  I  only  speak 
from  seeing  her  on  the  stage,  —  she  seems  a  very  ladylike 
little  woman,  with  considerable  talent  in  a  small  way :  in 
fact,  she  seems  completely  out  of  place  in  her  present 
position.  Perhaps  the  same  idea  has  occurred  to  you  ?  ' ' 

"By  Jove,  it  has!  more  than  once,  since  I've  been 
watching  her  to-night.  Her  manners  are  entirely  different 
from  those  of  the  crowd  around  her ;  and  I  could  not  help 
fancying,  when  I  first  saw  her,  that  there  was  some  great 
sadness  eating  away  at  her  heart.  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  talk  of  her  killing  herself  in  such  a  cold-blooded  way. 
I  think  it's  all  a  burning  shame;"  and  Tom  suddenly 
became  quiet. 

We  have  no  intention  of  following  with  a  particular 
description  along  the  trail  which  Tom  found  opening  for 
him,  or  of  recounting  the  various  means  by  which  he  was 
beguiled  by  the  wajT.  Tufton  was  careful  to  impress  him 
daily  with  an  appreciation  of  the  dangers  that  beset  him, 
but  at  the  same  time  lent  himself  to  the  task  of  over- 
coming them  with  a  readiness  which  might  indicate,  to  a 
cool  observer,  that  the  dangers  were  of  his  own  imagining. 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS. 

Mr.  Tom  was  no  cool  observer,  however,  but  fired  with  a 
noble  resolve  to  see  if  some  relief  might  not  be  brought 
to  the  sad  young  creature  ;  and  no  suspicions  of  duplicity 
on  the  part  of  Tufton  came  to  disturb  the  large  philan- 
thropy with  which  he  was  filled. 

Now,  do  not  smile  at  chivalric  Tom,  seeking  to  succor 
a  young  actress,  and  calling  it,  if  he  call  it  any  thing,  by 
the  safe  generalization  of  philanthropy.  You  and  I,  my 
dear  Philippus,  who  have  perfect  command  over  our  feel- 
ings, and  are  aware  how  specious  a  cover  is  this  same 
philanthrop}",  may,  perhaps,  be  amused  at  the  lad's  impetu- 
osity, and  see  dangers  that  he  does  not  conceive  possible. 
We  know  how,  in  children  of  an  older  growth,  philan- 
thropy becomes  the  cover  of  much  private  rebellion,  and 
love  of  fame,  and  dyspeptic  unhappiness ;  and  we  may 
well  fear  lest  the  love  of  his  species,  in  a  vivacious  young- 
ster like  our  Tom,  take  on  a  rosy  complexion,  and  suffer 
itself  to  be  narrowed  to  a  dangerous  unit,  destructive  of 
a  wide  application. 

As  these  memoirs,  however,  are  drawn  solely  from 
Hammersmith's  own  confessions  and  the  explanations  of 
his  journals,  and  as  the  family  failing  has  never  been 
towards  deliberate  misrepresentation,  we  are  compelled  to 
believe  him  when  he  says,  that  however  much  appear- 
ances may  be  against  him,  and  a  later  construction  of 
several  parties  may  be  insisted  on,  his  first  and  only 
thought  was  of  helping  the  unhappy  young  girl,  if  so  be 
he  could.  If,  in  spite  of  his  best  endeavors,  he  was 
unable  to  afford  her  assistance,  and  if,  later,  he  contented 
himself —  but  we  are  outrunning  ourselves.  He  has  always 
maintained,  and  will  to  the  end  declare,  that  all  the  Gar- 
risons, Howards,  Phillipses,  Nightingales,  and  Frys  of 
Christendom,  were  no  more  led  on  by  philanthropj7  than 
he,  when  he  begged  Tufton  to  contrive,  if  possible,  to 
'procure  him  an  introduction  to  tb.e  sad-eyed  }'oung  actress 


144  HAMMEKSMITH : 

tvho  figured  on  the  pla3*-bills  as  Miss  Graciana  Lee.  Her 
real  name,  or  rather  the  name  by  which  she  received  the 
various  needle- work  at  her  little  rooms,  was  Emily  Boggle. 

This  introduction,  and  the  insinuation  of  Mr.  Tom  into 
the  little  rooms  of  Miss  Graciana,  — Emily  in  the  vulgate, 
• — were  no  very  difficult  matter,  in  spite  of  the  imaginary 
dangers,  when  we  consider  the  ready  consent  of  all  con- 
cerned. Not  that  it  all  came  about  at  once,  or  that  Tom, 
for  his  part,  did  not  suppose  that  he  was  doing  most  won- 
derful things,  running,  as  he  would  have  said,  "  no  end 
of  danger,"  and  pursuing  his  philanthropy  under  most 
discouraging  circumstances,  —  the  fear  of  possible  surprise 
and  of  terrible  parental  retribution. 

"  Mind,  Tom,  I  distinctly  wash  my  hands  of  all  respon- 
sibilit}',  if  any  thing  happens  to  you,"  Tufton  had  sa:.d. 
"  I  warn  you  of  the  risk,  but  cannot  refuse  to  get  you  an 
acquaintance  with  her  if  you  really  wish.  Heaven  knows 
the  little  thing  needs  friends  badly  enough  ! ' ' 

And  Tom  looked  very  grand,  and,  I  must  own,  not  at  all 
philanthropic,  as  he  tossed  his  head  proudly,  and  made 
some  rejoinder  about  "  hanging  "  the  danger  and  the  risk, 
or  something  of  the  kind.  He  did  not  feel  the  less  grand, 
and  neither  more  nor  less  philanthropic,  as  he  found  him- 
self escorting  Miss  Graciana  across  the  Common  to  her 
rooms  one  night  not  long  after  Tufton' s  warning. 

"You  are  shivering:  are  you  cold?  "  asked  Miss  Gra- 
ciana. 

"Yes,  a  little.  The  wind  always  sweeps  across  the 
Common  so  !  "  said  Tom. 

"Let  me  button  your  coat  at  the  neck,"  said  she. 
"  Why,  you  silty  bo}',  3*our  throat  is  all  bare  !  "  And  she 
fumbled  at  his  great-coat,  rising  on  her  toes  to  do  it ;  and 
a  gas-light  showed  him  a  pair  of  very  bright  little  eyes 
without  a  particle  of  sadness  in  them  now,  and  peachy 
round  cheeks  which  ought  never  to  be  wet  with  tears,  and 


HIS  HAEVABD  DAYS.  145 

small  red  lips  that  looked  exceedingly  inviting,  — but  some 
Harvard  men  were  singing  towards  Cambridge  in  the  next 
inall !  —  and,  altogether,  a  trig  little  being,  which  might  well 
tempt  a  stronger  moralis^than  Tom  to  concentrate  a  wide 
philanthropy  upon  herself,  to  the  neglect  of  the  rest  of 
mankind. 

But  the  dangerous  little  unit  dropped  his  arm  at  the 
corner  of  a  dark  court  on  the  western  end  of  Joy  Street, 
and  put  out  her  hand. 

"  I  live  in  here,"  she  said.  "  I  thank  you  so  much  for 
your  kindness  !  Good-night."  And,  while  Tom  was  mum- 
bling some  nonsense  or  other,  she  pulled  her  hand  away, 
and  was  gone.  ,  Tom  strode  rapidly  out  to  Cambridge, 
twirling  his  cane  excitedly,  and  winding  this  novel  thread 
of  experience  around  his  romantic  bo3~'s  heart. 

Why  hadn't  she  asked  him  to  call  on  her,  though?  why 
had  she  torn  herself  away  so  suddenly?  Ah,  my  dear 
Tom !  j'ou  are  propounding  riddles  too  deep  for  Delphi. 
You  are  forgetting  your  Virgiliau  varium  et  semper  muta- 
ble femina.  You  are  attempting  to  drain  one  of  those 
fong  thin  wineglasses  called  "impossibles"  because  they 
never  can  be  quite  emptied.  Why  is  woman  a  sphinx? 
Why  are  we  pensive  at  twilight?  Where  is  the  odor  of 
last  year's  roses?  She  did  not  ask  j*ou  to  call  and  see 
her,  to  come  up,  in  fact,  this  very  evening,  my  dear  3'oung 
ignoramus,  because  she  was  extremely  anxious  to  have 
you  do  this  very  thing.  She  tore  herself  away,  and  ran 
off  like  Galatea  in  the  eclogue,  because  she  was  longing 
to  remain  right  here  at  the  corner,  by  your  side,  her  little 
hand  in  yours,  listening  to  }Tour  lignt  twaddle  and  all  your 
vows  of  S3~mpathy  and  admiration.  But  you  are  very 
young  yet,  and  may  understand  these  things  better  before 
you  join  the  ranks  of  "  all  good  fehows  whose  beards  are 

gray-" 

About  contemporaneous  with  this  first  escort  to  tte  Joy- 


146  HAMMERSMITH  : 

street  court,  a  careful  inspector  of  college-belongings 
might  have  detected  the  beginning  of  many  marked  pas- 
sages in  the  ancient  tragedies  and  comedies  in  which  Mr. 
Tom  was  engaged.  Beauties  of  expression  which  had 
escaped  him  before  now  caught  his  eye  with  a  personal 
application.  His  Antigone  and  Alcestis  showed  many  a 
pencil-mark  abreast  of  an  epigrammatic  description  or  a 
uoble  sentiment ;  while,  as  for  his  Horace  and  Theocritus, 
they  were  fairly  disfigured  with  his  significant  pencillings 
and  a  whole  gallery  of  dainty  heads  and  vignettes  with 
which  the  young  philanthropist  embellished  appropriate 
odes  and  idyls.  And  I  fear  me,  that  if  pains  were  taken, 
and  these  various  signboards  of  Mr.  Tom's  sentimental 
journey  were  collected,  they  would  be  found  to  point,  not 
to  the  unselfishly  beneficent  goal  to  which  he  declares  he 
was  aiming,  but  to  a  private  pleasure-ground  of  romance 
and  sentiment  of  quite  another  character,  in  which  he 
delighted  to  disport. 

As  he  went  on  in  this  journey,  came  again  and  again 
to  the  theatre,  again  and  again  escorted  the  young  sphinx 
to  her  home,  and  at  last  was  admitted  again  and  again  to 
her  narrow  quarters  in  the  little  court,  Cambridge  could 
not  be  supposed  to  be  ignorant  of  Mr.  Tom's  infatuation, 
and  almost  nightly  absence  from  its  learned  halls.  The 
utmost  precaution  on  his  own  part,  and  a  reticence  which 
told  many  things  because  it  was  so  sudden  and  marked, 
could  not  prevent  the  bright  skirts  of  his  sophomore 
romance  from  appearing  now  and  then  in  the  area  of 
university  gossip,  where  they  received  a  mighty  inflation. 

Small  scraps  of  information  were  bi-ought  out  also  from 
the  metropolis  now  and  then.  Tom  had  been  frequently 
seen  hanging  about  the  corner  of  Tremont  and  West 
Streets  when  the  theatre-crowds  were  pouring  out.  "  Oh*. 
I'm  waiting  for  a  friend,"  he  would  say,  if  a  fellow  ad- 
dressed huii.  He  was  known  to  be  almost  as  constant  an 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  147 

attendant  on  the  stage  now  as  the  call-boy  himself.     Fen 
nex  could  swear  that  he  had  seen  him  once  or  twice  cut 
ting  into  the  Joy-street  court,  with  a  small,  hooded  figure 
on  his  arm ;  and  so,  amid  much  leisurely  smoke  and  gos- 
sipy lounging,  Tom's  little  escapade  grew  and  spread,  like 
the  genius  from  the  fisherman's  net,  till   it  threatened 
quite  to  overshadow  that  youngster  himself,  and  become 
the  sensation  of  the  hour. 

Hence,  too,  it  came  that  he  acquired  a  prodigious  repu- 
tation as  a  man  of  the  world  among  Cambridge  men,  —  a 
reputation  which  a  certain  other  person  in  Cambridge  was 
taking  great  pains  to  increase  by  various  personal  embel- 
lishments and  rather  unjustifiable  disclosures.  For,  though 
Tom  did  not  know  it  till  long  afterwards,  Tufton  was  well 
aware  of  the  impulse  that  a  reputation  of  this  sort  would 
give  his  pupil ;  and,  while  Tom  was  as  secretive  of  his  own 
affairs  as  the  college-pump  is  of  the  long  history  of  quad- 
rangle events  which  it  has  witnessed,  Tufton,  by  crafty 
insinuation  and  occasional  contribution  of  facts,  contrived 
to  add  considerable  substance  to  the  shadowy  rumors  that 
were  floating  about  the  college- walks,  and  looking  in  at 
college  suppers  and  societies. 

His  fame  was  greater,  I  regret  to  say,  though  quite 
other,  than  after  his  wonderful  Greek  examination  of 
freshman  3'ear.  His  absorbed  air  and  pensive  smoking 
were  remarked  by  men  who  had  been  used  to  expect  jollity 
and  laughter  and  openness  from  him.  Some  men  dared 
to  say  that  Tufton  the  Great  was  ruining  him ;  and  fearful 
stories  of  his  losses  at  play,  and  his  excesses  in  company 
with  Tufton,  were  told  ;  which  were  happily  untrue.  Un- 
der-classmen,  in  whose  hands  legendary  history  grows 
so  rapidly,  added  rows  of  ciphers  vO  the  amounts  of  his 
losses,  and  a  dubious  spice  to  many  harmless  escapades. 
Thej'  looked  up  to  him  as  to  something  quite  awful,  as  he 
'  paced  the  yard  in  an  abstracted  mood,  aftei  the  fashion  of 


148  HAMMEESMITH : 

Dante ;  and  it  was  not  long  before  the  story  ran,  that  he 
had  fought  a  duel  or  two  on  account  of  an  actress  ;  and 
small  freshmen  at  their  ambitious  wine-parties  retailed 
many  startling  facts  about  him,  and  winked  at  their  wine- 
glasses with  a  deuscd  knowing  air. 

Ah,  what  a  glamour  they  threw  over  the  young  fellow  ! 
And  how  supremely  unconscious  he  was  of  his  Lovelace 
fame  !  though  occasional  hints  of  the  estimate  placed  upon 
him  came  to  his  ear,  not  unpleased  to  listen.  Philanthro- 
pists are  not  of  the  stuff,  forsooth,  to  quail  and  halt  before 
an  unfriendly  showing,  to  put  their  hands  to  the  plough, 
and  then  turn  back ;  and  a  Hammersmith  philanthropist 
least  of  all. 

"  Why  won't  3Tou  teh1  me  all  about  3"our  troubles,  Miss 
Lee?  "  said  Tom,  leaning  his  elbow  on  her  table  one  even- 
ing, where  the  3'oung  girl  was  busy  with  her  needle,  under 
a  flattering  drop-light,  working  prettily  at  a  fancy  hand- 
kerchief for  the  3roung  philanthropist. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  know  3*ou  well  enough,"  she 
answered,  threading  a  needle,  and  looking  peculiarly 
comical,  with  one  eye  closed,  as  she  turned  towards  the 
light. 

"Know  me!  Haven't  I  been  with  you  almost  every 
evening  for  two  months  now?  Haven't  I  brought  3*ou 
home  again  and  again  on  the  wildest  kinds  of  nights? 
Haven't  I  brought  3-011  books  and  flowers,  and  no  end  of 
things?"  And  he  opened,  and  twiddled  the  leaves  of,  a 
Byron  in  lavish  binding,  his  latest  gift. 

"  Yes,  3'ou've  been  very  kind  certainly ;  but "  — 

"Well?" 

' '  How  am  I  to  know  that  3-011  are  an3r  better  than  most 
i  f  the  3'oung  men  in  Cambridge  ?  How  am  I  to  know 
that  3Tou  are  going  to  do  all  the  fine  things  that  you  spealr 
of?" 


HIS  HARVARD   DAYS.  149 

"  By  Jove,  Miss  Emily !  you're  too  hard  on  me.  Have 
E  ever  done  any  thing  to  make  }"ou  distrust  me  ?  " 

"N-n-no." 

"  Have  I  ever  been  impertinent  or  forward?  " 

"  I  should  say  not,"  said  she  with  a  laugh.  "  On  the 
contrar}r,  I  thought,  that  first  night  on  the  Common,  that 
you  were  mightily  afraid  of  me.  You'll  never  die  of 
over-boldness,  you  may  be  sure."  And  Tom  vowed  he'd 
try  that  mode  of  death  some  day,  if  sufficiently  provoked ; 
and  she  had  better  be  careful  (this  to  himself) . 

"  Do  3'ou  take  me  for  a  man  like  Tufton?  "  he  asked, 
casting  about  for  the  first  man  with  whom  to  compare 
himself. 

"  Ugh !  don't  speak  of  him.  I  hate  the  sight  of  him ! 
Such  an  odious-looking  man  !  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  with 
him  every  time  I  see  you  together." 

"  I  don't  think  he's  so  bad-looking,"  apologized  Tom. 

"  So  he's  not  —  except  for  his  e3res.  But  men  don't 
notice  such  things." 

"Well,  what  can  I  do,  then,  to  prove  myself  worthy 
of  confidence?  "  asked  Tom. 

"I'll  not  tell  you  now.  There,  please  pick  up  my 
vhimble,"  folding  her  hands  meekly  in  her  lap.  Tom 
sprawled  over  the  floor,  fished  the  thimble  from  under  the 
sofa,  and  was  handing  it  to  her,  when  he  stopped,  and 
said  quickly,  — 

"What's  that?" 

"What?" 

"I  heard  a  noise  in  the  next  room.  Isn't  it  your 
dressing-room  ? ' ' 

"  Yes  ;  but  —  I  heard  no  noise.  It  was  your  own  ima- 
gination. Perhaps  it  was  a  cat  on  the  shed.  Now,  you 
little  goosey,  come  here  !  Don't  be  such  a  nervous  little 
man.  Was  its  little  heart  scared  because  it  heard  a  tom- 
'cat  at  the  window?  Now  give  me  ray  thimble,  and  be 
good."  And  she  pierced  him  with  a  blue-tipped  lance. 


150  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort  till  you  tell  me  what  I  can 
do  to  be  worthy  of  your  trust."  And  he  held  the  thimble 
behind  his  back,  poking  his  chin  at  her. 

"  That  isn't  at  all  becoming  to  3"ou,"  she  said.  "Now, 
Mr.  Johnson, — there,  you  see  how  little  I  know  you! 
I  didn't  even  know  your  right  name.  Johnson  isn't,  I'm 
very  sure.  They're  all  called  Johnson  on  the  stage,  all 
you  naughty  men.  I'll  tell  you  what :  I'll  make  a  bargain 
with  you.  You  give  me  my  thimble,  and  tell  me  your  real 
name,  and  I'll  promise  to  tell  you  any  thing  you  wish  to 
know." 

"Anything?" 

"  Yes,  unless  it's  very  impertinent."  Why  did  she  look 
at  him  so  roguishly  ? 

"  I'm  to  give  you  the  thimble,  and  tell  you  my  name? " 

"Yes." 

"  You're  to  tell  me  any  thing  I  want  to  know?  " 

"  Yes,  any  thing." 

"Can't  do  it.  Isn't  a  fair  bargain.  I'm  to  do  two 
things  ;  you  only  one." 

"  Well,  but  perhaps  I  shall  tell  you  lots  of  things. 
They'll  count  more  than  one ;  that  is,  if  you  care  any 
thing  about  me  at  all,"  she  said,  with  an  appearance  of 
great  dejection.  Then  she  suddenly  looked  up,  took  a 
skein  of  red  silk  from  the  table,  which  made  a  pretty  bit 
of  color  against  her  black  dress,  habitually  worn,  and  her 
general  coloring  of  face  and  hair,  which  was  "  clear  and 
gold-yellow,"  like  Heine's  friend,  saj-ing, — 

"Now  hold  this  for  me,  that's  a  good  man!  You'll 
not  want  too  hard  a  bargain  from  me  ? ' ' 

Tom  resigned  the  thimble,  and  put  his  great  brown 
paws  in  the  pretty  coils  of  red  silk  ;  but  his  clumsy  fingers 
would  get  hopelessl}'  tangled,  and  his  thumb  was  always 
m  the  way  ;  and  the  young  siren  bent  over  him,  as  he  sal 
on  a  low  seat  before  her,  and  removed  the  snarls,  telling 


HIS  HABVAED  DAYS.  151 

him  that  he  did  it  on  purpose.  But  Tom  said,  "Oh,  no ! " 
and  looked  very  innocent.  And  he  felt  her  warm  breath 
on  his  face,  and  snarled  the  thread  again,  and  again  said, 
"Oh,  no!"  Altogether  it  was  a  funny  situation  for  a 
philanthropist ;  but  I  make  no  doubt  that  he  tried  to 
endure  it  as  well  as  he  could. 

"  Now  tell  me  your  name,  Air.  Johnson,"  she  said, 
when  thej7  were  about  half  through,  and  Tom  "was  watch- 
ing her  rapid  fingers. 

"  What  will  you  give?  " 

"  Oh  !  anj*  thing,  almost." 

"The  whole  name?" 

"Of  course." 

"  Samuel  Browii." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it !  You  were  never  a  Sam, 
you  know  perfectly  well." 

"  How  could  you  tell?  Well,  I'll  confess  :  I  was  fool- 
ing that  time.  It's  Arthur  Simpson." 

"  Arthur  Simpson !  Where  did  you  invent  such  a  name? 
You're  no  Arthur,  either!  Arthur  is  too  soft  for  you; 
though  }*ou  are  pretty  s  —  s  "  — 

"What  do  you  say?"  he  exclaimed.  But  she  drew 
back,  and  told  Tom  to  behave ;  and  he  did,  although  he 
didn't  feel  at  all  like  it. 

"  No,  reall}',  what  is  it?  "  she  asked. 

"Thomas"  — 

"  Well,  why  not  say  Tom?    That's  stronger." 

"Tom  Sampson." 

"  No,  that's  too  strong.  You're  no  Sampson!  Come, 
LOW,  you'll  never  tell  me !  " 

"  Tom  Hammersmith,"  he  said. 

"  No,  really?  that's  very  nice  and  strong." 

"  Why  do  you  believe  me  this  time?"  he  exclaimed, 
looking  a  bit  discomfited.  "  Did  you  know  it?  By  Jove ! 
I  believe —  Who  could  have  told  you?  It  isn't  fair!" 


152  HAMMERSMITH : 

And  the  thread  was  fearfully  tangled  of  a  su  Id  en ;    and 
there  was  a  pretty  little  melodrama  of  red  silk  and  blue 
cravat,  small  hands,  fair  blooming  cheek,  and  impertinent 
mustache  ;  after  which  came  her  epilogue,  — 
"  O  you  naughty  man,  go  home  !  " 

And  Tom  at  length  went  —  though  not  as  one  driven, 
and  astonished  Gimlet  with  his  hilarity,  meeting  him  on 
his  beat  towards  Cambridgeport ;  and,  bursting  into  his 
own  rooms,  performed  a  war-dance,  and  shook  Penhallow 
in  his  bed,  howling  like  a  dervish  at  him. 

Penhallow  opened  a  sleepj-  ej  e,  and  growled,  — 
"What  in  thunder's   the  row?     Go  to  bed!"  which 
Tom  at  length  did,  after  considerable  prancing  about,  and 
a  little  private  worship  of  a  knot  of  red  silk  which  he  took 
from  Ms  button-hole. 


HIS   JLA11VARD    DAYS. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

IN    "WHICH    MR.  TOM    ALMOST    SMELLS    GUNPOWDER. 
"A  deer  with  a  halter  around  his  neck  cannot  go  where  he  pleaseth." 


SAADI. 


EURIPIDES. 

WE  are  not  proposing  to  enlarge  upon  tins  episode  of 
Mr.  Tom's  career,  or  to  set  clown  much  of  his 
harmless  capering  in  those  salad  days  when  he  hovered 
about  the  Joy-street  court. 

Placid  men  of  the  world,  grown  gray  in  service,  may 
smile  at  the  lad's  simplicity,  his  easy  inflammability,  his 
guilelessness  ;  and  I  own  that  there  is  much  that  is  laugh- 
able in  the  adorable  A'erdancy  and  charming  gravity  of 
youthful  aftairs  of  this  sort.  His  word  for  it,  Tom  felt 
that  it  was  no  laughing  matter,  as  the  phrase  goes,  at 
the  time.  He  seemed  appreciably  older  since  this  chival- 
ric  mantle  had  fallen  upon  his  shoulders,  lie  moved 
about  with  a  sense  that  a  part  hail  been  assigned  him.  and 
that  at  last  his  turn  to  act  had  come.  It  is  sad  to  havo 
iO  own,  at  last,  that  the  part  is  mere  ranting,  and  the  fair 
Dulcinea  whom  we  would  rescue  a  mere  designing  minx, 
(vho  has  been  playing  us  on  a  hook  for  veriest  pastime. 
But  it  is  sadder  to  have  to  own  that  we  are  incapable  of 
sympathy  and  chivalry,  and  the  tenderer  sentiments  that 
come  in  their  train,  and  proud  iliat  we  are  as  stocks  and 
stones. 

It  was  very  pleasant,  then,  and  seemingly  much  beset 


154  HAMMEE  SMITH : 

with  danger,  for  our  Hammersmith  free-lance  to  charge, 
upon  the  unconscious  metropolis  (which  would  have  been 
electrified,  and  would  have  risen  to  him  as  to  a  conqueror, 
he  felt,  if  it  had  known  how  his  heart  was  bursting  with 
great  yearning  plans),  and  to  hang  up  his  shield  in  the 
Joy-street  court,  and  chirrup  with  the  beleaguered  Graci 
ana  in  her  third-story  donjon,  hung  with  dingy  luce  cui- 
tains,  which  were  transfigured  by  her  presence;,  as  were 
all  the  other  tawdry  appointments  of  the  rooms,  into 
something  quite  wonderful  and  princely.  How  he  poured 
out  his  boyish  hopes  and  plans  to  her !  How  he  read  to 
her,  and  quoted  much  unintelligible  nonsense,  while  she 
rolled  her  tender,  melancholy  e}"es  at  him,  and  sighed. 
He  argued  with  her  on  the  theatrical  life  that  she  was 
leading,  its  trials,  its  hardships,  its  temptations,  and  by 
degrees  drew  from  her  an  account  of  her  griefs,  substan- 
tially the  same  as  Tufton's  version.  And  he  walked  the 
room,  his  anger  breaking  out  in  excited  speech,  declaim- 
ing against  her  cruel  father,  and  tortured  his  brain  to  find 
some  way  of  escape  for  her. 

"Now,  don't,  Tom!"  she  would  say,  —  it  was  Tom 
and  Emily  now,  —  "  remember,  he's  my  father.  It's  very 
hard  to  bear  ;  but  I  must  do  it."  And  she  looked  so  re- 
signed and  patient,  and  altogether  captivating,  as  she  sat 
at  her  work-table,  stitching  away  at  some  feminine  mys- 
tery, that  Tom  could  only  rave  and  stamp  the  more, 
bursting  with  sympathy. 

"But,  confound  it !  There  ought  to  be  some  way  of 
putting  an  end  to  it !  It's  downright  cruelty  !  He  ought 
to  be  shut  up !  Erm'l}',  has  he  ever  beaten  you? " 

"  N-n-no ;   but   he's  veiy  harsh  and   rough  with   me 
sometimes.     And,  Tom,  I  don't  know  what  he  would  do, 
if  he  should  ever  catch  you  here.     He  only  comes  once  a 
week  generally,  to  get  the  money ;  but  he  might   come 
and  I  ion't  know  what  I  should  do !  " 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  155 

u  Oh,  don't  you  be  alarmed  !  I'm  not  afraid  of  him,  or 
a  hundred  like  him!  "  Tom  would  answer,  with  a  defiant 
toss  of  the  head  natural  to  him,  clinching  his  fists,  and 
striding  nbout.  Once,  in  fact,  he  had  nearly  demolished 
a  panel  of  the  hall-door,  bringing  his  hard  knuckles  down 
upon  it  till  it  cracked,  and  Emily  started.  "  I'd  like  to 
give  hiir.  a  piece  of  my  mind,  and  ask  him  what  he  means 
}  3-  treating  you  so !  " 

"  Now,  promise  me  you'll  never  fly  out  at  him  if  he 
tomes  here,  or  have  any  words  with  him  at  the  theatre, 
won't  you?  —  there's  a  good  boy !  "  And  she  pushed  the 
(.air  from  his  forehead,  and  kissed  him. 

"  I  can't,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  must !  You  have  no  idea  how  ferocious  he  is 
nrhen  he's  mad." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  shall  go  on  seeing  him  ill-treating 
pou,  and  taking  all  your  money,  and  never  try  to  help 
you?" 

"  But  what  can  you  do?  " 

"  I'll  see  what  I  can  do !  "  and  he  fell  to  thinking,  and 
looked  very  resolute. 

Lamb  sa3rs  that  he  can  conceive  of  two  persons,  who 
have  never  seen  each  other,  meeting  for  the  first  time,  and 
instantly  falling  to  fighting.  Mr.  Tom  had  been  endowed 
by  nature  with  no  such  subtle  tendency  to  pugnacity  and 
sudden  enmity,  and,  I  imagine,  was  as  amiable  a  young 
fellow  at  this  period  of  his  life,  and  as  free  from- unusual 
ebullitions  of  feeling,  as  most  lads  of  his  ardent  tempera- 
ment. The  first  sight  of  Boggle  the  actor  had  raised 
no  such  dire  longing  in  his  heart  as  Lamb  describes.  A 
Lastling  sub-manager,  ordering  about  a  gang  of  fustian 
carpenters,  and  arranging  stage-properties,  is  not  ordina- 
rily  considered  in  the  light  of  a  red  flag  to  a  bull.  But 
Tom  felt  now  that  the  very  sight  of  Boggle,  the  tyrant- 
father,  the  miscreant,  the  villain,  —  witu  which  names  be 


156  HAMMERSMITH : 

continuall}'  showered  him,  — would  be  eno  igh  to  rouse  al] 
the  worst  passions  in  him.  He  would  fall  on  him  at  once, 
—  he  knew  he  would,  —  and,  seizing  him  by  the  throat, 
call  him  to  account  for  all  his  harsh  treatment  of  hia 
daughter.  Such  thoughts  were  very  easy  and  quite  natural 
to  Tom,  as  he  paced  the  room,  or  strode  grandly  out  to 
Cambridge,  or  talked  s3-mpathizingly  with  Tufton  on  the 
subject ;  Tufton  counselling  extremest  caution,  but  con- 
triving at  the  same  time  to  add  fuel  to  the  young  fellow's 
wrath  and  devotion  by  various  judicious  means,  while 
appearing  anxious  to  quell  his  fiery  spirit. 

Breathing  such  vows  and  dark  intentions,  the  lad  man- 
aged to  lash  himself  into  quite  a  frenzy.  And  exchanging 
soft  speech,  such  as  that  of  which  we  have  seen  a  speci- 
men, Miss  Emily  and  Tom  continued  to  promenade  the 
private  pleasure-ground  of  sentiment  above  referred  to, 
absorbingly  happy  in  the  present,  and  looking  forward  to 
the  time  when  they  could  shut  the  gate  entirely  on  odious 
parents  and  all  obnoxious  intruders.  If  Miss  Emily 
played  her  part  perfectly,  as  though  she  had  learned  it 
from  the  stage-book,  with  all  the  proper  exits,  entrances, 
asides,  and  so  on,  carefully  marked  and  conned,  Tom,  on 
his  side,  was  the  least  suspicious  subject  of  all  with  whom 
she  had  tried  the  role  before  —  and  Tufton  could  have 
told  you  that  their  number  was  legion.  Indeed,  Tufton 
had  their  names  all  carefully  written  down  in  a  little  pri- 
vate book,  with  various  specifications  against  each,  the 
nature  of  which  may  be  imagined  as  this  history  pro- 
ceeds. 

Yes,  Mi'.  Tom  (I  have  his  word  for  it)  was  completely 
and  engrossingly  happy  in  these  few  too  brief  weeks.  He 
smiles  a  cynical  smile  at  it  all  now,  and  wonders  how  ho 
could  have  been  such  a  condemned  fool.  But  at  the  time, 
\vhile  he  was  pouring  his  hot  words  into  the  little  actress's 
ears,  and  firing  himself  to  the  fighting-point  in  her  behalf) 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS. 

he  was  as  completely  sub  melliftuo  imperio  to  the  3'ourig 
schemer  (to  adapt  Fortescue's  phrase,  quite  differently 
applied)  as  any  infatuated  boy  who  has  dangled  at  the 
belt  of  a  flirt,  or  sighed  his  heart  out  in  unappreciated 
verse. 

As  he  had  not  the  innate  impulse  of  which  Lamb  speaks 
to  fight  the  casual  stranger,  none  the  more  had  he  the 
mawkish  sentimentality  that  idealizes  every  pretty  face 
which  one  meets,  and  sets  him  spinning  romances  and 
wrapping  himself  in  their  folds.  "We  shall  have  portrayed 
his  young  life  thus  far  to  no  purpose,  if  we  have  not 
shown  him  to  be  quite  too  sensible  and  sturdy  fur  that, ; 
and  if  it  shall  not  already  be  seen  that  the  stuff  of  which 
he  was  made  was  quite  different  from  that  of  erotic  Sterne, 
who  declared,  that,  if  he  were  in  a  desert,  he  should  love 
some  cypress. 

Here,  however,  was  a  romance  read}'  made  to  Hammer- 
smith's hands,  waiting  only  for  time  to  give  the  crown- 
ing stroke.  Here  was  a  pretty  face,  which  needed  no 
idealizing  to  account  for  its  tender  melancholy  and  piteous 
grace  ;  and  should  he,  Hammersmith,  with  his  mind  filled 
with  classic  models,  and  his  heart  still  unsullied  with 
evil,  refuse  his  aid?  Is  there  any  wonder,  then,  that  not 
many  weeks  of  artful  coquetting  had  passed  over  him, 
before  he  was  Miss  Graciana  Lee's  most  abject  slave, 
most  loyal  knight  perhaps  we  should  say?  And  Miss 
Graciana,  who  could  drive  a  tandem  of  flirtation  as  skil- 
fully as  Tufton  could  manage  his  single  bay  (my  lord,  in- 
deed, had  more  weight  on  the  lines  in  this  case  than  Mr. 
Tom  at  first  suspected) ,  —  Miss  Graciana  had  but  little 
trouble,  and  certainly  infinite  amusement,  in  winding  the 
boy  Hammersmith  about  her  pretty  fingers,  till  at  length 
she  saw  him  almost  writhing  under  the  tortures  of  his 
pleasure,  and  enduring  the  lover's  dolci  durezze  and  placidt 
'  repulse  under  her  graceful  whip. 


158  HAMMERSMITH : 

To  what  extreme  the  lad's  impetuous  nature  might 
have  carried  him,  and  what  mode  of  escape  his  interested 
scheming  might  have  arranged,  we  are  scarcely  able  to 
conjecture.  That  he  would  have  acquitted  himself  as  a 
brave  and  devoted  Hammersmith,  and  shown  no  flinch- 
ing in  the  execution  of  his  plans  whatever  they  might 
have  been,  no  one  who  knows  the  family  temperament 
can  doubt.  This  history  might  have  run  in  quite  a  differ- 
ent channel,  and  Mr.  Tom's  academic  career  have  ter- 
minated most  abruptly  (like  those  Western  rivers  that 
come  tumbling  and  booming  down  a  canon,  only  to  sink 
in  the  sand,  and  be  lost  at  its  mouth) ,  if  there  had  not 
come  a  sudden  check  on  his  exuberance,  in  the  form  of  an 
intrusive  presence  in  their  pleasure-ground. 

It  was  that  season  of  the  year  when  a  man  with  an  eye 
for  beauty,  promenading  the  fashionable  avenues  of  Bos- 
ton, knows  not  which  to  admire  the  more,  —  the  bursting 
buds  and  early  bloom  within  the  trim  city  areas,  or  the 
gorgeous  raiment  and  splendid  finery  which  burst  into  full 
flower  outside  the  iron  palings,  with  the  rising  of  the 
Easter  sun.  In  all  the  throng  of  returning  worshippers 
and  saunterers  along  sunny  Beacon  and  Boylston  and 
Tremont  Streets  that  Sunday,  there  were  none  happier, 
and  freer  from  care,  than  our  friends  Freemantle  and  Ham- 
mersmith, walking  arm  and  arm  along  the  gay  sidewalks 
about  noon,  lifting  their  hats  to  friend  after  friend,  and 
basking  as  well  in  the  welcome  sunshine  of  spring  as  in 
the  proud  consciousness  of  being  regarded  as  chief  orna- 
ments of  their  class  in  the  neighboring  university.  Un- 
der all  the  dainty  bonnets  to  which  they  bowed,  however, 
covering  I  care  not  how  high-bred  and  brilliant  beauties, 
Mr.  Tom  saw  no  face,  so  the  young  rascal  thought,  which 
wore  such  an  appealing  tenderness  and  melancholy  beauty 
as  a  certain  blue-eyed  little  lady  of  whom  he  was  think- 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  159 

ing,  I  fear,  not  only  to-day,  but  every  day  and  night  for 
many  weeks  now.  For  shame,  Mr.  Tom !  to  associate 
in  your  mind,  even  for  an  instant,  thoughts  of  these  spot- 
less maidens,  these  demure  young  worshippers,  and  }Tour 
pining  Dulcinea  in  the  Joy-street  court !  But  pardon 
innocent  Hammersmith,  and  permit  him  for  a  day  or  two 
more  to  idealize  his  young  actress,  and  fold  his  chivalric 
mantle  about  himself  and  her  alike  ;  for  the  denoument  is 
coming  fast  enough,  when  ideal  and  mantle  will  be  torn 
relentlessly  away. 

It  was  the  Monday  night  after  this  Easter  Sunday. 
Cambridge  had  put  its  scholarly  head  on  its  pillow,  and 
was  sleeping  peacefully.  The  round  Gimlet,  rolling  on 
his  beat,  saw  only  here  and  there  a  light  still  burning,  and 
encountered  onl}-  a  belated  reveller  now  and  then  steering 
with  unsteady  motion  collegeward. 

A  hack  came  tearing  furiously  out  of  Boston,  its  lights 
bobbing  up  and  down  as  the  horses  now  galloped,  and 
now  trotted,  under  a  whip  constantly  applied.  If  Gimlet 
had  looked  within,  he  would  have  seen  his  patron  and 
friend  Hammersmith,  sitting  with  his  hat  on  the  back  of 
bis  head,  and  an  unlighted  cigar  crunched  between  his 
teeth,  looking  wildly  into  nothingness.  If  he  could  have 
followed  him,  he  would  have  seen  Mr.  Tom  putting  his 
head  again  and  again  out  of  the  hack-window,  and  shout- 
ing to  the  driver,  "For  God's  sake,  get  on!  Never 
mind  3'our  horses!  Give  them  the  whip!"  and  sinking 
back  upon  his  seat  again. 

The  hack  turns  swiftly  intc  Tufton's  street,  rattling 
and  echoing  in  the  narrow  thoroughfare,  and  stops  before 
my  lord's  door. 

Tom  is  out  almost  before  it  has  stopped,  hands  the  man 
his  fare  (liberallj*  increased) ,  and  bangs  at  Tufton's  door. 
The  driver  wheels  his  horses,  walks  them  slowly  off 
towards  Boston  and  turns  to  look  at  Tom,  sa3ring  to  him 


r  60  HAMMERSMITH : 

self,  "  Young  chap  is  in  a  peck  of  trouble,  I  should  say 
Liberal  with  the  coin,  howsumdever :  them  kind  most 
generally  is.  Get  up,  Susan !  get  up,  gal !  " 

Jordan,  blinking  fearfully,  appears  with  a  candle  at  the 
opened  door. 

"Hah,  Mr.  'Ammersmith,  it  be  you?  Master  'ave  'ad 
a  powerful  bad  'eadache  this  hevening.  Might  hit  be 
hany  thing  poorticular  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  yes,  Jordan  !  Hang  his  headache  !  "  and  Tom 
brushes  past  him,  and  runs  quickly  up  to  Tufton's  rooms. 

"What  is  it?  Who's  there?"  came  in  answer  to 
Tom's  call. 

"It's  I,  Hammersmith!  Must  see  you,  old  fellow! 
Come  out  as  soon  as  you  can.  Or  shall  I  come  in?  " 

"  No,  I'll  be  out  in  a  minute."  And  Tufton  throws  on 
his  dressing-gown,  thrusts  his  feet  into  slippers,  a  smoking- 
cap  on  his  head,  and,  as  he  gives  his  mustache  a  twirl  at 
the  glass,  says  to  himself,  "  So  the  trap  is  sprung,  eh?  " 

He  appears,  yawning,  and  stretching  out  an  arm.  He 
starts  to  roll  a  cigarette  which  he  has  taken  from  his 
bureau. 

"My  God,  Hammersmith,  you  look  ill!  What's  the 
row?  Here,  take  a  pull  of  brandy.  Jordan,  Jordan,  a 
small  glass  !  "  And  Tom,  a  pitiable  sight,  doubled  up  in 
an  easy-chair,  with  his  hat  still  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
takes  the  brandy,  and  tosses  it  off. 

"  It's  all  up,  Tufton,  all  up!  I've  had  a  terrible  time 
to-night.  Her  father  came  in  on  us,  and  " —  But  Tom 
had  to  stop  for  breath  in  his  excitement. 

"  You  didn't  have  a  fight?  " 

"  No  !  Wish  to  Heaven  I  had  !  Wish  he'd  killed  me, 
or  I  him  !  Tufton,  I'm  a  ruined  man  !  " 

"  Pooh,  pooh,  man,  not  so  bad  as  that !  Tell  us  about 
it."  But  it  was  a  long  time  before  Tom  could  go  on  to 
explain  it  all,  and  then  only  with  many  halts,  and  much 
striding  about  the  room,  and  glaring  at  Tufton. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  161 

"  In  the  first  place,  old  fellow,  you  were  right.  If  I 
had  taken  your  advice,  and  steered  clear  of  her,  I 
shouldn't  have  made  such  a  mess  of  it,  and  such  an  ass 
of  myself.  But  I  couldn't  help  it,  God  knows!  And 
she's  worthy  of  every  thing  I  can  do  for  her,  by  Jove! 
she's  worthy  I  say !  "  shouted  Tom. 

"  Yes,  3*es,  I  hear  you.  Go  on,"  said  Tufton,  a  little 
moved  by  Tom's  excited  manner,  and  not  quite  knowing 
if  every  thing  had  been  done  according  to  the  card,  and 
if  his  lion-cub  might  not  be  minded  to  turn  upon  him, 
after  all. 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  staring  into  vacancy  as  he  recalled 
the  scene,  "  we  were  sitting  quietly  in  her  rooms  :  I  was 
just  through  reading  something  out  of  Herrick  to  her,  and 
she  was  embroidering  a  handkerchief  for  me,  bless  her !  " 
A  long  pause. 

"  She  looked  up  and  said,  '  Aren't  you  going  to  read 
any  more?  '  and,  as  she  said  it,  her  face  became  as  white 
as  marble,  and  she  said,  '  O  Tom !  O  Tom !  '  two  or 
three  times,  dropping  her  work.  Jove,  I  shall  never  for- 
get it  as  long  as  I  live !  I  thought  she  must  be  awfully 
ill,  and  jumped  up  to  catch  her ;  but  she  ran  towards  the 
door,  saying  very  quickly,  '  He's  coming,  he's  coming !  ' 
-'Who?'  said  I.  'My  father!  What  shall  we  do?' 
and  she  turned  towards  me,  and  opened  her  arms  in  the 
most  helpless  way.  I  caught  hold  of  her,  and  so  forth, 
and  told  her  not  to  be  afraid  ;  but  she  trembled  and  shook 
so,  I  thought  she  was  going  to  faint.  '  You  must  hide, 
Tom,  you  must  go  in  here ; '  and  she  started  to  open  a 
closet-door.  I  was  excited,  of  course,  and  was  starting 
to  go  in ;  but  I  thought  what  a  disgraceful,  cowardl}7 
thing  it  would  be,  and  I  turned  round,  and  told  her  I 
would  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  She  begged  me,  and  — 
and  so  forth.  But  I  was  bound  not  to  be  caught  hiding 
in  that  way  ;  preferred  a  square  fight  by  far. 


162  HAMMEKSMITH  : 

"She  had  just  time  to  say,  'Well,  then,  sit  down 
quietly,  and  don't  say  any  thing  till  I  explain  things,' 
when  the  door  was  thrown  open  with  a  kick,  and  old  Bog- 
gle strode  in.  The  old  bird  had  been  drinking  fearfully,  I 
could  see  that ;  but  he  looked  as  sober  as  a  judge,  and 
scowled  like  a  thousand  devils  when  he  saw  me. 

"  '  Papa,  this  is  Mr.  Johnson,'  said  Emily. 

"  '  Mr.  Johnson,  ugh !  '  growled  the  old  fellow. 

"  '  Yes.  He's  called  to  see  if  he  can  borrow  that  fancy 
suit  of  yours  for  a  masquerade  in  Brookline.  Won't 
you'  — 

"  '  Fancy  suit  be  blank-blanked !  Girl,  go  to  your 
room ! '  he  roared. 

"But  she  sank  down  on  the  floor,  and  kept  saying, 
'  Please,  please,  father !  '  And  I  couldn't  stand  it  any 
longer.  I  jumped  up,  and  threw  myself  between  them, 
sajing  to  him,  — 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  but  what's  all  this  for?  I'm 
a  37oung  man  ;  but  I  fancy  I'm  a  gentleman,  and  I'll  not 
see  a  woman  abused  by  anybody !  ' 

"  '  Who  the  devil  are  3'ou?  You  think  I'm  going  to 
swallow  all  your  rot?  "  Fancy  suit  "  !  He,  he !  '  And, 
quickly  turning  the  key  in  the  hall-door,  he  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  said  harshly  to  Emily,  '  Sit  down,  then,  and 
keep  quiet,  if  you  want  to  see  it  out,'  while  I  could  feel 
my  blood  turning  hot  and  cold.  I  could  have  struck  him  ! 
I  could  have  killed  him !  But  I  got  over  that  feeling, 
when  I  saw  him  quietly  open  a  small  mahogany  chest  of 
drawers  near  the  window,  and  sit  down,  with  his  hand  rest- 
ing in  the  opened  drawer,  fumbling  with  a  pistol,  which  I 
caught  sight  of,  and  heard  him  put  at  full  cock.  I  wasn't 
such  a  fool  as  to  exasperate  him,  with  his  Land  on  a  pistol 
at  full-cock,  although  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  sit  still.  Do 
you  know  that  feeling,  Tufton?  Have  you  ever  had  a 
man  standing  guard  over  you  in  that  way  ? ' ' 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  163 

"I  — I  —  no,  oh,  no!  It  must  have  felt  mighty  tic- 
klish, eh?" 

"  I  tell  3Tou  it  did  at  first.  But  I  soon  forgot  it,  and 
gave  my  whole  attention  to  keeping  as  cool  as  possible, 
and  mollifying  the  old  boy  as  much  as  I  could.  He  took 
out  a  cigar,  and  offered  it  to  me. 

"  'Will  you  smoke,  Mr.  Johnson?  It  may  take  us 
some  time  to  settle  this  little  matter.' 

"  '  No,  thanks,'  said  I.  I  was  afraid  of  his  villanous 
weeds.  He  lighted  and  puffed  away  in  silence  a  moment, 
looking  from  Emily  to  me,  and  back  again  to  Emily,  grin- 
ning feebly  as  he  did  so.  I  couldn't  stand  it,  and  blurted 
out,  — 

"  *  Mr.  Boggle,  we  may  as  well  understand  each  other.'- 

"  '  Precisely,  precisely,  understand  each  other,'  said  he, 
crossing  his  knees. 

"  '  That  matter  of  the  fancy  suit  was  a  mere  fiction  of 
your  daughter's,'  said  I. 

"  '  Precisely,  fiction,  a  fiction !  —  Emily,  he  talks  tol'ble 
well.' 

"  *  But  I  am  here,  sir,  because  I  know  your  cruel  treat- 
ment of  3rour  daughter.  I  have  heard  it  all ;  and  you 
have  treated  her  shamefully  —  }*es,  sir,  shamefully  ! '  And 
I  could  scarcely  keep  nryself  from  shaking  my  fist  in  his 
face. 

"  *  Precisely,  precisely,  shamefully  !  That's  good !  — 
Mr.  Johnson  says  shamefully,  Emily.  You  hear?  ' 

"  '  Yes,  sir,  shamefully.  And  I  am  here  by  the  right 
that  all  gentlemen  have,  of  protecting  oppressed  women 
everywhere  ;  and  I '  — 

"  ' Precisely,  oppressed  women! — Emily,  you  hear 
him?  You  are  an  oppressed  woman,  Emily,  devilish  op- 
pressed !  ' 

"  '  And  as  you  are  a  gentleman  and  a  father,  sir,  you 
can  appreciate  the  motive  '  — 


164  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  '  Very  good,  very  good !  Gentleman  and  father !  — 
You  hear,  Emily,  I'm  a  gentleman  and  a  father  !  He's  a 
gentleman  and  a  father,  Emily,  he,  he  !  '  Heaven  forgive 
for  me  calling  him  a  gentleman,  Tufton ;  but  I  thought  it 
might  pacify  him. 

"  I  can't  remember  all  that  we  said,  or  how  long  it 
took :  it  seemed  hours  then ;  but  I  suppose  it  was  about 
fifteen  minutes.  I  was  going  on  to  upbraid  him  (I  know 
it  was  impolitic  ;  but  I  couldn't  help  it,  and  Emily  sitting 
there  so  pale  and  frightened,  begging  me  with  looks  not 
to  do  any  thing  rash) ,  and  I  was  telling  him  that  I  had 
never  harmed  his  daughter,  or  meant  to,  so  help  me 
Heaven !  when  his  whole  manner  changed.  He  said  in 
.a  perfectly  natural  way,  dropping  his  semi-maudlin 
speech, — 

"  '  Don't  waste  your  breath,  young  man.  I  suppose 
we  understand  each  other ;  and,  as  I'm  a  bit  sleepy,  we'll 
get  to  business.' 

"  I  could  have  taken  my  oath  that  he  was  as  tight  as  a 
lord  when  he  came  ;  and  he  changed  in  a  jiffy.  Do  you 
know  I  think  it  was  all  put  on?  Wasn't  it  extraordi- 
nary? " 

"  Yes ,  very , ' '  said  Tufton.     ' '  Well  ?  ' ' 

"  Well,  he  took  out  a  greasy  old  pocket-book,  fumbled 
in  it,  turned  his  back  to  me,  scratched  away  with  a  pen, 
and  handed  me  a  paper.  My  God  !  " 

"  Well?  "  said  Tufton,  blowing  a  ring  of  smoke. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  was  in  it?  I  can't  remember 
exactly :  but  it  was  like  this  :  — 

"  'The  undersigned  hereby  agrees  to  pay  to  Graham  Boggle  or 
order,  for  value  received,  one  thousand  dollars  current  money 
United  States,  in  the  following  sums  and  under  the  following 
conditions:  one  hundred  dollars  within  five  days  from  date,  the 
balance  monthly  in  three  instalments  of  three  hundred  dollars 
each. 

"  '  BOSTON,  April  19, 186-.' " 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  165 

"  You  didn't  sign  it?  "  said  Tufton. 

"  I  didn't  at  first.  I  could  hardly  believe  my  senses; 
but  I  read  it  twice,  and  then  threw  it  on  the  table. 

"  '  I  have  done  nothing  to  warrant  this,  sir,'  said  I. 
'  I'll  not  sign  it.' 

'  '  Oh !  don't  be  in  a  hurry,  of  course,'  he  answered. 
'  One  does  not  cany  that  amount  about  with  one  all  the 
time,  of  course.  Reflect  a  moment !  ' 

"  '  I  appeal  to  you,  Emily !  '  I  shouted.  But  Emily 
looked  frightened  ;  and  her  father  said,  — 

"'Oh!  that  doesn't  matter.  It's  out  of  the  girl's 
hands  now  :  it's  between  us  as  gentlemen.'  And  he  smiled 
most  sarcastically. 

"  '  I'll  have  you  prosecuted,  sir !  '  I  shouted. 

"  '  It  will  be  necessary  to  appear  before  a  justice.  We 
keep  none  in  these  rooms,'  he  said  coolly. 

"  '  I'll  have  you  branded  as  a  scoundrel,  sir !  ' 

"  '  Perhaps  so.  But  that  will  be  to-morrow,  or  the  next 
clay,  or  the  next.  To-night  this  paper  interests  us  more. 
But  come,  this  has  gone  far  enough.  Your  name,  sir,  in 
that  place  at  once !  No  Johnson,  either !  '  he  added. 
'  That  will  not  go  down  in  this  court.' 

•  •  What  could  I  do  ?  I  held  out  still,  told  him  it  was 
impossible,  I  hadn't  the  money,  it  would  ruin  me,  and  so 
on ;  and  Emily  added  her  appeals.  But  he  was  as  cool  as 
an  iceberg,  never  lost  his  temper ;  and,  at  last,  seeing  no 
relief,  I  signed.  He  put  his  name  in  the  other  corner,  as 
a  witness,  folded  the  paper,  and  put  it  back  in  Ms  book. 

"  '  And  now  we  have  the  pleasure  of  wishing  you  a  very 
good-evening;  haven't  we,  Emily?'  he  said,  with  just  a 
m  mientary  relapsing  into  his  old  tone.  '  I  shall  be  glad 
to  receive  these  remittances  as  promptly  as  possible,  01 
we  may  both  be  put  to  considerable  trouble  and  expense  ; 
and,  throwing  open  the  door,  he  bowed  stiffly.  I  seized 
my  hat,  bowed  to  Emily,  —  poor  girl!  —  passed  him  as 


166  HAMMERSMITH : 

straight  as  a  ramrod,  and  walked  down  stairs.  I  don't 
know  how  I  got  out  here  ;  but  here  I  am,  a  ruined  man  !  " 

"By  Jove,  it  is  a  pretty  rough  deal!"  said  Tufton. 
"  But  don't  let  it  make  you  desperate.  I  thought  it  was 
a  great  deal  worse  when  you  first  came  in." 

"  But — heavens  and  earth !  what  am  I  to  do?  "  gasped 
Tom.  "I  can't  raise  the  money!  I  don't  know  a  man 
who  can  lend  it  me,  unless  }'ourself,  my  dear  fellow  "  — 

"  I'm  exceedingly  sorry,  Hammersmith,  you  know  I  am. 
But  the  fact  is,  my  own  exchequer  is  most  uncomfortably 
low  just  now,  and  I  have  been  thinking  how  I  could  raise 
the  wind  myself." 

"  Then  I'm  a  used  up  community  !  "  said  Tom.  "  If 
I  only  had  that  hundred  that  I  loaned  you  last  month,  I 
might  make  this  first  payment,  and  so  get  a  little  time  to 
breathe,  and  look  about  me." 

"It's  too  bad!"  said  Tufton.  "And  I  promise  you 
I'U  help  you  as  soon  as  I  can.  I  am  expecting  some 
money  shortly,  and  will  pay  you  as  soon  as  it  comes,  on 
my  word." 

"What  caw  I  do?  Can  you  suggest  any  plan  ?"  asked 
Tom.  "  Penhallow  has  no  money,  I  know  :  he's  always 
hard  up.  Freemantle  is  even  worse  off.  And  Goldie, 
who  is  the  only  man  that's  flush  at  this  time  of  year,  —  I 
couldn't  ask  a  favor  from,  if  I  were  dying !  We've  hardly 
spoken  for  months." 

"  I'll  think  it  over,"  said  Tufton.  "  But,  'pon  my  word, 
I  hardly  know  where  to  turn.  Why  couldn't  you  write 
home?" 

"Gad,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that!  I  get  my  money 
through  my  uncle's  lawyers  in  Boston,  and  don't  draw  on 
my  mother.  I'll  do  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  But 
I'll  tell  3'ou  what,"  continued  Tom,  cheering  up  visibly, 
and  strutting  about  the  room,  "  I  don't  despair  of  being 
aole  to  arrange  it  without  paying  any  thing  to  old  Boggle 


HIS  HAEVARD  DAYS.  167 

at  all.  You  know  Mm,  Tufton :  can't  you  intercede  for 
me?  On  my  word,  Tufton,  I  have  done  nothing  in  this 
whole  affair  that  any  gentleman  need  be  ashamed  of,  you 
know  that  perfectly  well.  Don't  you  think  you  might 
tell  Boggle  so  emphatically,  and  get  him  to  release  that 
paper?" 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Tufton.  "  I'll  see  him  the  first  thing 
in  the  afternoon,"  looking  at  his  clock,  which  already 
marked  the  quarter  to  three. 

"  Thank  jrou,  thank  you  most  heartily,  my  dear  Tufton  ! 
It's  late,  and  I'm  keeping  you  from  your  sleep.  Is  your 
head  better?  I'm  very  glad.  You'll  carry  a  note  to 
Emily  for  me,  too,  won't  you?  " 

"  Mighty  risky  !  But  I'll  do  it  for  you,  old  boy,"  and 
Tufton  pressed  warmly  the  hand  that  was  extended  to  him. 
Tom  left,  and  went  to  his  room  ;  where,  after  tossing  and 
mumbling  wildly  in  his  bed  for  a  while,  he  fell  into  the 
sound  sleep  which  comes  to  most  healthy  3'oung  creatures 
like  him. 

In  the  morning  he  wrote  hastily  to  his  mother,  begging 
for  the  hundred  dollars,  or  as  much  as  she  could  conven- 
iently spare,  making  all  sorts  of  excuses  and  explana- 
tions, after  the  manner  of  devoted  sons  whose  pockets  are 
suddenly  empty. 

In  the  afternoon  Tufton,  the  kind,  the  obliging,  the 
self-sacrificing,  drove  to  town  agreeably  to  appointment, 
canning  the  following  note,  which  he  delivered  with  most 
uncommon  difficulty,  as  he  gave  Tom  to  understand :  — 

CAMBRIDGE,  April  20, 185  - . 

MY  DEAEEST  EMILY,  —  What  a  scene  we  had !  And  Low  I  havo 
been  tortured  with  anxiety  ever  since,  to  know  if  your  cruel  father 
has  been  treating  you  with  fresh  harshness  since  I  have  seen  you! 
I  have  been  wild,  and  beside  myself  with  anger;  but,  with  Tuf ton's 
'kind  aiv,  I  have  grown  calmer,  and  hope  to  find  some  escape  out 
of  this  terrible  entanglement  with  your  father.  Tufton  has  be- 
haved splendidly,  promises  to  do  all  he  can;  and  I  assure  you,  my 


168  TTAMMF/RSMTTTT : 

poor  dear  Emily,  that  you  can  trust  him  implicitly.    He's  as  true 
as  steel ;  and,  without  him,  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  do. 

I  must  see  you,  and  as  soon  as  possible,  to  learn  how  you  are, 
and  to  see  you  with  my  own  eyes.  What  I  suffered  for  you  while 
your  villain  of  a  father  was  abusing  me  last  night,  you  can  never 
know.  I  do  not  think  of  myself,  but  of  what  you  must  be  under- 
going, exposed  to  that  man's  renewed  cruelty  and  most  unjust 
abuse.  He's  a  brute,  a  scoundrel,  and  every  thing  that  is  low  and 
mean,  and  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  longer  endure  his  tyranny. 
Write  to  me  at  once  by  Tufton,  if  possible,  if  not,  through  the 
mail,  directing  to  "Massachusetts  18,  Cambridge,"  and  tell  me 
where  and  when  I  can  see  you :  make  it  as  soon  as  possible.  I 
shall  be  consumed  with  anxiety  till  I  can  see  you.  We'll  see  if 
we  cannot  devise  some  way  of  escaping  from  that  odious  brute ; 
and,  if  worst  comes  to  worst,  we'll  —  but  I  leave  every  thing  till  I 
see  you,  my  poor  suffering,  patient  little  Emily.  Write  at  once. 

Always  yours, 

T.  H. 

On  Ms  return  to  Ms  rooms,  towards  sundown,  Tufton 
met  Tom,  and,  with  a  very  long  face,  handed  him  the  fol- 
lowing note,  a  small,  much  scented  pink  note,  in  delicate 
feminine  script :  — 

DEAR  Sm,  — Whatever  feeling  I  may  have  had  for  you  before 
has  been  destroyed  by  your  most  abusive  and  unyentlemanly  words 
applied  to  my  father  in  your  note.  No  gentleman  could  have  used 
such  terms  as  you  employed  in  writing  to  a  lady  of  her/aMer.  I 
am  disapointed  in  you,  and  now  percieve  that  I  have  been  thor- 
oughly mistaken  in  you.  I  can  never  see  you  again;  and  if  you 
dare  to  atempt  to  call  on  me,  or  speak  to  me,  I  have  friends  about 
me  who  will  see  that  you  are  treated  as  you  deserve. 

I  hope,  when  next  you  try  to  be  a  friend  to  a  lady,  you  will 
understand  how  a  gentleman  should  act  and  talk  under  all  cercum- 
stances.  Yours  for  the  last  time, 

E.  B. 

P.  S. — Mr.  Tufton  has  kindly  promised  to  carry  this  to  you. 
He  will  tell  you  that  this  word  of  mine  is  final,  and  also  that  my 
poor  father,  whom  you  abuse  so  basely,  refuses  most  positively  to 
break  off  the  business  arangement  that  he  has  made  with  you. 
Gentlemen  generally  keep  their  word,  I  believe.  If  you  will  send 
somebody  to  fetch  away  your  books,  and  the  rest  of  the  rubish  that 
you  have  left  here,  you  will  oblige  me. 


HIS   HARVARD    DAYS.  169 


"  Can  that  be  true?  "  Tom  said,  crushing  the  note  in 
his  hand. 

"Afraid  it  is,"  said  Tuflon.  "I'll  tell  you  what  I 
think.  The  old  fellow  must  have  come  in  on  her  when 
she  was  reading  your  note,  and  dictated  her  answer.  I 
know  that  I  handed  your  note  to  her  myself,  and  she 
seemed  very  pleased,  only  mighty  sad,  and  red  about  the 
eyes  ;  and  she  told  me  to  call  in  an  hour.  I  did  so.  Saw 
old  Boggle  climbing  up  the  street  as  I  turned  the  corner 
of  the  court,  and  found  her  crying,  when  she  handed  me 
her  note  there.  She  said,  '  It's  all  over.  I  can  never  see 
him  again.'  And  though  I  staid  quite  a  while,  expostu- 
lating with  her,  and  taking  }'our  part,  she  was  inflexible, 
and  I  could  get  no  satisfaction :  she  said  her  father  would 
kill  you  if  he  caught  you  near  her  again.  She  begged 
me  to  hand  j^ou  this  note,  and  I  left." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  she-didn't  write  this  of  her  own 
free  will  ? ' ' 

"  Exactty.  I  think  her  father  must  have  scared  her  by 
threatening  to  shoot  you  if  she  did  not  break  with  you 
entirely. ' ' 

"By  Jove,  Tufton,  you  are  a  brick!  You  always 
encourage  a  fellow  so  !  "  And  with  more  diplomatic  talk 
from  Tufton,  who  saw  that  Tom  must  be  kept  in  good 
hope,  or  he  might  do  something  desperate,  —  leave  Cam- 
bridge, jump  into  the  river,  or  in  some  other  way  balk  the 
payment  of  the  money  to  Boggle,  — the  two  sat  and  dis- 
cussed the  matter  long.  Tom  at  last  left,  thanking  Tuf- 
ton impressively  for  all  his  trouble  and  kindness  ;  and  the 
door  was  no  sooner  closed  than  Tufton  threw  himself  at 
full-length  on  the  sofa,  holding  his  sides,  and  indulging  in 
what  passed  for  excessively  loud  laughter  with  his  lord- 
ship :  in  other  persons  it  would  have  been  called  a  sub- 
dued cackle. 


170  HAMMEESMITH : 

Tom  had  a  sorry  success,  however,  in  attempting  to 
prove  for  himself  how  much  foundation  there  was  for  the 
hope  extended  in  Tufton's  last  conversation.  He  waylaid 
the  Boggle  as  she  came  out  of  the  theatre-door  the  next 
evening. 

' '  Emily,  may  I  walk  with  you  a  little  way  ?  ' ' 

She  turned  her  face  full  towards  him,  and  drew  away  a 
bit,  as  she  said,  — 

"Mr.  Johnson,  leave  me!  I  don't  know  you,  sir!" 
And,  as  Tom  did  not  leave,  she  turned  herself,  and  walked 
into  the  theatre.  Tom  waited  under  a  distant  lamp-post, 
saw  her  come  out  in  a  few  moments  on  her  father's  arm, 
look  about  just  a  second,  and  then  walk  off  with  him. 

We  may  leave  to  the  imagination  all  that  passed  in  the 
young  man's  mind  as  he  followed  them,  saw  them  disap- 
pear in  the  well-known  dark  passage  where  he  had  cut  in 
so  often  with  such  a  pleasant  titillation,  and  then  took  his 
way  for  Cambridge. 

We  may  only  mention  that  he  was  leaning  with  his  chin 
on  the  railing  of  the  bridge,  looking  down  into  the  cool, 
dark  flood  washing  against  the  timbers,  when  Freemantle, 
Pinckney,  and  several  other  men,  stretching  their  legs 
after  a  party  in  Boston,  came  upon  him,  and  rallied  him 
on  his  "  pensive  attitude,"  as  they  called  it.  He  joined 
them,  and  walked  to  Cambridge. 

Quiet  as  Tom  had  been  of  late,  the  men  were  alarmed 
*t  his  dejected  and  forlorn  air  to-night,  and  refrained  from 
the  copious  chaff  with  which  any  thing  out  of  the  common 
order  is  usually  showered  by  easy-going  college-men. 

"  Goldie  was  put  into  the  'Varsitj*  to-day,"  said  Pinck 
ney,  as  the  crowd  was  breaking  up  in  the  quadrangle. 
"  Did  you  know  it,  Tom?  " 

"No,"  said  Tom. 

"  You  ought  to  be  there  yourself  too,"  continued  the 
ardent  Pinckney.  "They've  got  Albertson  in  at  No.  3' 


HIS  HARVARD  .DAYS.  171 

but  he's  mighty  weak  for  a  waist  oar,  and  you're  the  very 
man  to  strengthen  them  there.  "Would  you  pull  if  they 
asked  you?  " 

"  Let  them  ask  me  first,"  said  Tom,  and  went  off  to 
his  rooms  ;  while  Pinckney,  full  of  manly  tenderness  and 
pity  for  Tom,  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  suggest 
Tom  for  the  'Varsity  at  the  very  next  meeting  of  the  club, 
his  own  position  as  -sice-president,  and  his  reputation  as 
an  oarsman,  rendering  such  a  suggestion  from  him  entirely 
in  rule.  He  pulled  one  of  the  prettiest  oars  on  the  river, 
had  been  frequently  begged  to  row  in  races  and  crews ; 
but  a  tendenc}*  to  heart-disease,  never  apparent  at  other 
exercise,  was  aggravated  by  severe  work  in  a  boat,  and 
he  had  been  forbidden  by  his  physician  to  take  more  than 
gentle  single-scull  paddling. 


172  HAMMERSMITH: 


CHAPTER  XII. 

STRANGE   BEHAVIOR   OF   MY   LORD   TUFION. 

"  Who  gave  me  the  goods  that  went  since? 
Who  raised  me  the  house  that  sank  once? 
Who  helped  me  to  gold  I  spent  since? 
Who  found  me  in  wine  you  drank  once." — BROWNING. 

HOFFMAN  says  somewhere  in  Ms  note-books,  thai 
on  the  llth  of  March,  at  eight  and  a  half  o'clock 
precisely,  he  was  an  ass.  Tom  now  appreciated,  what  it 
had  taken  him  some  time  to  accept,  that  on  the  19th  of 
April,  at  about  eleven  of  the  clock,  when  he  signed  that 
luckless  paper  of  Boggle's,  he  was  the  longest-eared,  most 
pachydermous,  of  his  kind. 

It  is  a  point  gained,  however,  when  one  can  be  brought 
to  realize  the  long  ears  —  which  he  has  previously  regarded 
only  as  picturesque  objects  in  natural  history,  in  nowise 
related  to  himself — as  an  actual  prominent  possession 
of  his  own,  patent  to  the  world.  It  is  an  added  virtue, 
when  he  not  only  recognizes  the  proprietary  relation,  but 
takes  the  matter  in  hand,  like  a  patient  philosopher,  and 
endeavors,  by  various  reducing  processes  unknown  to 
Banting,  to  diminish  the  unnatural  growth. 

Tom  felt  sufficiently  the  ludicrous  aspect  of  his  situa- 
tion. He  appreciated  perfectly  now,  that  Boggle  and  the 
daughter  had  conspired  to  extract  that  unhappy  promise 
to  pay  from  him  ;  and  he  was  clever  enough  to  see  through 
the  vulgar  coquetry  by  which  he  had  been  led  on.  There 
had  been  a  certain  ordered  method  in  the  tactics,  however 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  173 

which  puzzled  him  not  a  little.  Surely  Gralam  Boggle, 
a  third-rate  actor,  and  Emily  Boggle,  second  walking-lady 
of  the  troupe,  could  hardly  be  in  the  habit  of  luring  the 
unsuspecting  stranger-}'outh  into  such  carefully-  arranged 
pitfalls !  But  who  else  could  be  plotting  with  them  ? 
Well,  he  would  not  bother  himself  with  the  conjecture. 
He  had  been  duped,  trapped,  robbed :  that  was  enough ! 
He  was  not  lawyer  enough  to  doubt  if  his  signature,  thus 
obtained,  were  binding ;  and  he  would  hardly  have  dared 
put  the  question  to  his  bankers,  Brooks  and  Bates,  if  the 
doubt  had  occurred  to  him. 

But  can  any  simple  statement  of  his  recognition  of  his 
own  folly  adequately  express  the  sickening  disgust,  and 
self-discontent,  and  entire  mental  revolution,  which  came 
over  him?  —  he,  Tom,  who  had  pledged  himself  so  de- 
votedly to  his  mother  to  do  nothing  unworthy  of  her  or 
his  father,  —  he  to  be  entrapped  and  swindled  by  a  couple 
of  actors,  to  feel  that  he  had  not  the  penetration  to  see 
through  the  low-bred  wiles  and  tawdry  accomplishments 
of  the  Boggle,  and,  worse  than  that,  to  find  himself 
pledged  to  pay  a  thousand  dollars  within  a  three-month, 
—  a  thousand  dollars  to  come  from  he  knew  not  where  ! 

What  should  he  do?  where  should  he  turn?  Oh  that 
his  uncle,  who  knew  the  ways  of  the  world  so  weU,  and 
could  pardon  youthful  folly,  as  Tom  felt  sure,  were  only 
here !  Who  else  of  all  his  friends  and  relatiAres  could  at 
the  same  time  pity  and  pardon,  and  act  as  paymaster  for 
him  in  this  emergency  ?  But  Mr.  Gayton  was  not  here ; 
nobody  knew  when  he  would  be  :  and  poor  Tom  was  left, 
like  so  man}7  lads  in  all  time,  to  fight  his  own  battle,  and 
decide  if  he,  or  the  ogre  Circumstance,  should  win. 

It  was  what  novelists  call  a  rude  awakening  for  Ham- 
mersmith,—  Hammersmith,  who  had  never  before  been 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  deceit  and  trickery,  wiles 
and  villany,  of  the  world,  in  all  his  young  life.  Did  he  go 


174  HAMMERSMITH  : 

drown  himself?  Did  lie  take  to  drink?  Did  he  break 
out  into  wild  cursing  of  the  human  race  in  general,  and 
actresses  in  particular?  Thank  Heaven,  no  !  But  in  the- 
sullen  and  silent  Hammersmith  who  now  went  through  his 
college-exercises  as  mechanically  as  clock-work  (if  not 
with  quite  its  regularity) ,  one  would  hardly  recognize  the 
gay  and  dashing  Tom  who  had  been  the  life  of  supper- 
parties  so  short  a  time  ago,  or  the  earlier  Tom  who  had 
come  up  to  Cambridge  with  smug  face  that  had  never 
looked  on  treachery  or  sin,  and. with  the  ingenuous  airs  of 
unsullied  youth. 

A  ruder  awakening  still  awaited  him,  however. 

The  'Varsity  and  the  entire  Boat-Club  had  begged  and 
entreated  him  to  enter  the  crew,  Pinckney  having  started 
the  movement ;  but  Tom  would  not  give  his  decision  till 
he  had  heard  from  home.  If  the  money  came,  he  argued, 
he  might  make  his  first  payment,  join  the  crew,  secure  thus 
a  new  channel  for  his  thoughts  and  activities,  and  then 
trust  to  his  devices  for  securing  funds  to  pay  the  balance. 
If  the  money  from  home  did  not  come,  he  hardly  dared 
think  what  might  happen ;  certainly  he  should  be  in  no 
mood  to  go  into  boating,  —  he  might  have  to  run  away  in 
deepest  disgrace. 

The  Boat-Club,  I  say,  had  unanimously  petitioned  him 
to  try  his  hand  in  the  crew.  His  splendid  physique  was 
still  as  powerful  as  ever.  The  winter's  carousals,  while 
they  had  taken  him  away  from  his  exercise  vastly  more 
than  was  good  for  a  boating-man,  and  had  led  him  into 
some  dubious  excesses  in  my  lord's  banquet-hall,  had  as 
yet  no  sensible  effect  on  his  superb  development ;  and  he 
was  hailed  as  the  coming  man  for  the  'Varsit}-,  in  spite  of 
the  croakings  of  the  stricter  trainers. 

The  letter  from  home  came :  it  was  fat  and  soft,  and 
Tom  broke  the  seal  excitedly.  It  was  there,  —  a  draft  for 
seventy  dollars ;  "  Which  is  all  that  I  can  convcnientk 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  175 

spare,  m}*  dear  Tom,"  the  widow  wrote,  "  and  I  hope  you 
are  not  living  too  extravagantly." 

"  Poor  mother !"  said  Tom  to  himself;  "if  she  only 
knew  where  her  money  is  going ! ' '  And  he  rushed  to 
Tufton's  to  announce  the  good  news  that  he  had  raised 
most  of  the  first  instalment.  Yes,  if  the  good  mothei 
could  only  have  known  where  her  money  was  going ! 

So  by  his  mother's  happy  aid,  and  by  borrowing  of  one 
or  two  classmates,  Tom  made  up  the  hundred  dollars,  and 
sent  it  in  by  Tufton,  who  said  he  was  going  to  town  to 
see  about  some  new  engravings.  In  the  evening  came  a 
receipt  from  Graham  Boggle  for  "  one  hundred  dollars 
on  account." 

The  very  next  afternoon,  with  a  lighter  heart  than  he 
had  carried  for  many  a  day,  Tom  took  his  seat  in  the 
'Varsity  boat  at  No.  3,  and  had  his  first  pull  with  the 
crew.  It  was  months  since  he  had  had  a  good  square 
pull ;  and  with  implacable  McGregor  in  the  bows,  and 
Miles  pulling  a  slashing  stroke  of  forty  to  the  minute, 
our  Tom  was  put  through  a  severe  ordeal  on  this  first 
practice-trip  of  his.  They  pulled  nearly  to  Braman's, 
rested  on  their  oars  a  moment  (McGregor  criticising  the 
crew) ,  and  then  came  swinging  back.  They  shot  through 
the  bridge  without  a  scratch,  caught  up  a  stroke  or  two 
as  they  neared  the  boat-houses,  and  came  tearing  up  at 
racing  speed. 

"By  Jove,  here  she  springs!  There's  plenty  of  life  in 
her  now  !  "  said  Pinckney  to  the  crowd  in  waiting,  as  the 
boat  came  in  sight  above  the  upper  bridge. 

The  crowd  cheers.  McGregor  turns  his  head  to  take  his 
bearings,  and,  as  he  nears  the  houses,  says  sharpby,  "  Way 
enough !  "  and  then,"  Hold  her,  Three  and  Four !  "  They 
step  out  of  the  boat.  The  fellows  gather  about,  and  com- 
pliment them  on  their  improved  form,  looking  admiringlj 
at  Tom's  glowing  muscles,  and  plucky,  determined  air. 


176  HAMMEKSMITH: 

But  nobody  in  all  the  throng  and  in  all  tLe  crew  knew, 
that  when  Tom  was  pulling  away  as  if  he  would  pull  his 
heart  out,  and  laying  on  all  his  strength,  with  his  eyes 
glued  to  Goldie's  back  in  front  of  him,  he  was  saying  to 
himself  with  every  stroke,  "  Confound  her!  confound 
hei  1  "  or,  "  ffang  him  !  hang  him !  "  But  such  was  the 
fyrt,  believe  it  who  will ;  and  he  is  not  the  first  man,  I 
conceive,  who  has  vented  his  feelings  in  like  fashion  at 
seme  sturdy  pastime.  He  took  a  plunge  in  the  river  with 
others  of  the  crew,  dressed  in  one  of  the  narrow  little 
dressing-rooms  of  those  daj-s,  and,  just  as  the  sun  was 
setting  over  Mount  Auburn,  went  up  to  dinner,  feeling 
like  a  new  man. 

It  was  but  a  few  evenings  after  this  first  practice  of 
Tom's  with  the  'Varsity,  that,  returning  to  his  rooms  after 
dining,  he  found  under  his  door  the  following  note,  super- 
scribed to  himself :  — 

DEAR  HAMMERSMITH,  —  If  you  have  nothing  particular  on 
hand  this  evening,  will  you  not  come  to  my  rooms  at  nine  ?  I 
have  something  especially  important  to  say  to  you,  which  affects 
you  very  nearly.  I  ask  you  to  come  to  me  instead  of  offering  to 
meet  you  in  your  own  quarters,  as  I  think  we  shall  he  much  less 
liable  to  interruption  over  here. 

Do  not  fail  to  come,  if  you  can  possibly  spare  the  time.  You 
will  regret  it  if  you  do  not.  Yours,  &c., 

JOHN  BREESE. 

FRIDAY,  May  13. 

' '  Hang  it !  Why  are  fellows  alwa}Ts  meddling  in  my 
affairs,  I  should  like  to  know !  Another  lecture  a  la 
Goldie,  I  suppose.  Appears  to  me  I  have  plenty  of  peo- 
ple overseeing  me.  But  what  can  this  be  ?  Breese  is  not 
a  man  to  waste  time  or  words  on  a  cock-and-bull  story : 
tliat  I  know  perfectly  well,"  communed  Hammersmith 
with  himself. 

When  he  went  over  to  Breese 's  ^oom,  at  nine,  his  door 
was  open.  Knocking,  and  receiving  no  answer,  he  walkec? 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  177 

in,  and  sat  down,  saying  to  himself  that  Breese  had  proba- 
ably  stepped  out  for  a  moment. 

A  lexicon  lay  open  on  the  table,  a  Plautus  upon  the 
lexicon,  and  several  books  scattered  about.  Tom  took 
up  one  mechanically,  and  glanced  at  its  title,  "  Thoughts 
of  the  Emperor  M.  Aurelius  Antoninus."  Turning  its 
leaves  absent-mindedly,  he  found  passage  after  passage 
marked,  some  with  a  single  line,  some  with  two  and  even 
three, — the  favorite  apothegms  of  the  reader.  Breese 
not  coming,  Tom  read  here  and  there,  and  was  soon  busi- 
ly engaged  in  following  from  one  marked  passage  to  an- 
other, so  apt  they  appeared  to  his  present  frame  of  mind. 

"  If  thou  workest  at  that  which  is  before  thee,  following  right 
reason  seriously,  vigorously,  calmly,  without  allowing  any  thing 
else  to  distract  thee,  but  keeping  thy  divine  part  pure,  as  if  thou 
shouldest  be  bound  to  give  it  back  immediately;  if  thou  boldest 
to  this,  expecting  nothing,  fearing  nothing,  but  satisfied  with  thy 
present  activity  according  to  nature,  and  with  heroic  truth  in 
every  word  and  sound  which  thou  utterest,  thou  wilt  live  happy. 
And  there  is  no  man  who  is  able  to  prevent  this." 

"  It  is  a  ridiculous  tiling  for  a  man  not  to  fly  from  his  own  bad- 
ness, which  is  indeed  possible,  but  to  fly  from  other  men's  bad- 
ness, which  is  impossible." 

"  If  thou  art  pained  by  any  external  thing,  it  is  not  this  thing 
that  disturbs  thee,  but  thy  own  judgment  about  it.  And  it  is  in 
thy  power  to  wipe  out  this  judgment  now." 

"A  cucumber  is  bitter:  throw  it  away.  There  are  briers  in 
the  road :  turn  aside  from  them.  This  is  enough.  Do  not  add, 
And  why  were  such  things  made  in  the  world?' ' 

This  passage  Tom  read  over  and  over,  not  at  first  fully 
;omprehending  its  force,  and  then  dwelling  on  it  for  its 
epigrammatic  pointing  of  the  moral. 

"He  who  does  wrong  does  wrong  against  himself.  He  who 
acts  unjustly  acts  unjustly  to  himself,  because  he  makes  himself 
bad." 

"  No  longer  talk  about  the  kind  of  man  that  a  good  man  ought 
o  be,  but  be  such." 

"What  is  niy  ruling  faculty  now  to  me?  and  of  what  nature 
Am  I  now  making  it  ?  and  for  what  purpose  am  I  now  using  it  ?  " 


178  HAMMERSMITH : 

These,  and  manj7  other  sentences  like  them,  which  seamed 
to  have  been  especially  set  apart  for  his  present  mood. 
Tom  was  reading  absorbedly  when  Breese  came  in. 

"Beg  pardon,  Hammersmith.  I  stepped  across  to 
Donaldson's  to  return  a  book  that  I  had  borrowed." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it.  I've  been  immensely  interested  in 
this  book  here,"  said  Tom. 

"  What,  Marcus  Aurelius ?  Heaven  bless  him!  He's 
a  stand-by  that  I  never  am  tired  of  leaning  upon  \\  hen  I 
feel  a  little  down." 

''You  don't  mean  to  say  that  men  like  you  ever  feel 
down  or  discouraged?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Why,  of  course.  I  suppose  everybody  has  a  little 
letting-down  now  and  then :  it's  probably  good  for  us. 
But  I  am  very  seldom  so  down  with  the  blues,  that  a  good 
constitutional,  or  a  few  pages  of  my  Marcus  Aurelius,  or 
other  vade-mecums,  will  not  bring  me  up  again." 

"  Well,  I  must  own  I'm  surprised  to  hear  it.  If  there's 
a  man  in  the  class  that  I  thought  was  alwa}rs  in  tip-top 
working-order,  body  and  mind,  it's  you,  Breese.  But  I 
can't  say  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  subject  to  the 
same  ups  and  downs  as  the  rest  of  us  fellows.  I  certainly 
always  thought  you  were  a  law  unto  yourself,  and  had  no 
need  of  outside  aid." 

"  You  see  yo\i  were  vastly  mistaken,"  said  Breese. 
"  No  one  can  live  at  the  top  of  his  bent  all  the  time,  or 
keep  his  wings  going  continually,  however  the  wind  blows  ; 
though  I  conceive  that  it  is  our  duty  to  do  so  as  much  as 
possible,  or  else  give  up  at  once,  and  creep  about  on  the 
earth,  like  blind  animals.  But  I  did  not  ask  you  up  here 
to  listen  to  a  lecture  on  Marcus  Aurelius  and  morality 
generally :  }'ou  probably  had  enough  of  my  style  of  ha- 
ranguing, last  year,  in  '  The  Forum  '  of  blessed  memory," 
he  added  with  a  serio-comic  air. 

Tom  settled  into  his  chair,  and  took  out  a  cigar.  Breesi 
would  not  smoke. 


HIS    HARVARD   DAYS. 

"  1'erlutps  I  ought  to  apologize,  Hammersmith,  for  sa}'- 
ing  any  thing'  at  all  in  an  all'air  which  docs  not  concern 
me  immediately,  except  as  your  friend."  began  Breese. 

"  That  (lej)ends  upon  what  the  all'air  is,"  said  Tom, 
hardening  a  little,  and  confirmed  in  his  expectation  of  a 
Goldie  tirade. 

"  But  if  the  angel  Gabriel  were  to  come  down  and  give 
you  important  news  about  a  man  in  whom  yon  were  inter- 
ested, yon  would  not  think  that  yon  had  a  right  to  refuse 
telling  it  to  him,  and  helping  him  if  possible,  would  yon?  " 
Breese  asked. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  that's  the  kind  of  company  you 
entertain  here  along  with  Marcus  Aurelius  and  the  rest !  " 

"  Not  exactly  —  quite  a  different  kind  of  bird  !  T  think 
you  will  agree  with  me  when  }'ou  hear  my  news." 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  "  lire  ahead." 

"You  know  perfectly  well,  Hammersmith,"  Breese 
went  on,  "  that  every  thing  a  man  does  in  Cambridge  or 
Boston,  or  aivywhere  about  here, — in  fact,  many  a  thing 
that  he  doesn't  do,  — is  bruited  about  in  college  sooner  or 
later,  and  that  we  all  know  pretty  well  what  our  neighbors 
are  busy  about,  if  they  arc  only  coloring  meerschaums. 
So  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  even  men  like 
myself  are  tolerably  well  informed  about  your  life  for  the 
past  few  months,  and  all  your  " 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  "  what  of  that?  " 

"  We'll  let  that  pass,"  continued  Breese.  "  I  was 
only  mentioning  it  by  way  of  preface,  that  you  might 
know  I  had  some  little  grains  of  information  on  a  certain 
matter,  even  before  the  angel  Gabriel  flapped  down  upon 
me.  Yesterday  afternoon,"  and  Breese 's  brow  clouded, 
"  I  received  a  very  sad  letter  from  home.  I  need  not  re- 
fer to  it,  it  is  neither  here  nor  there  ;  out  I  did  what  I 
have  never  done  yet  in  college,  —  I  cut  afternoc  n  recitation 
and  dinner  alike,  and  staid  here  in  my  rooms  writing." 


180  HAMMEESMITH : 

Lie  paused  a  moment,  as  though  the  recollection  were 
painful  to  him.  "I  had  written  for  several  hours,  read 
a  bit,  and  about  ten  o'clock  went  down  to  Kent's  for  a 
little  supper  :  I  felt  faint  from  my  unusual  fasting.  I  had 
finished  my  supper,  and  must  have  been  in  the  place  some 
time,  re-reading  my  letter,  and  resting  on  my  elbow,  when 
somebody  came  into  the  next  stall.  '*  (The  students'  fa- 
vorite restaurant  of  the  day  was  this  primitive  place  of 
Kent's,  with  a  number  of  narrow  stalls  ranged  against 
the  wall.) 

' '  I  certainly  had  no  thought  of  eaves-dropping :  I  hope 
I  am  not  given  to  it.  I  should  have  gotten  up  and  left 
immediately,  for  the  interruption  had  recalled  me  to  my- 
self;  but  I  was  attracted  by  hearing  your  name,  accom- 
panied with  an  oath,  almost  directly  on  their  entering. 
There  were  two  men  as  I  now  made  out.  Hammersmith, 
I  hope  the  Lord  will  pardon  me  for  staying  and  listening 
to  them  as  they  talked ;  and  I  know  that  you  will,  when 
I  tell  you  what  I  heard.  Did  you  know  that  there  was 
a  plot  on  foot  to  ruin  you  ? ' ' 

u  Is  that  all  your  news?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Oh !  I  do  not  refer  to  Boggle  and  his  daughter :  every- 
body knows  about  that.  But  did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
that  there  was  somebody  else  connected  with  them  in  the 
plot,  managing  the  wires?  " 

"  Well,  if  it  has  occurred  to  me,  what  then?  " 

"  Only  this:  I  can  supply  the  missing  link.  The  two 
men  went  on  talking,  sometimes  in  such  low  tones  that 
I  could  not  hear  a  word  distinctly,  but  generally  so  that  I 
tould  easily  distinguish  what  they  were  saying.  I  heard 
one  called  '  Crosby  '  again  and  again.  He  seemed  to  talk 
the  less  of  the  two ;  and  I've  no  idea  who  he  can  be :  I 
never  heard  of  him  about  here  before.  The  other  name 
I  could  not  for  a  long  while  catch.  It  seemed  a  monosyl- 
lable, and  was  spoken  very  indistinctly.  But  presently  J 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  181 

heard  that  it  was  '  Tuf,'  and  soon  after  recognized  the 
whole,  'Tufton.'  I  surely  justified  myself,  in  my  own 
conscience  at  any  rate,  in  staying  to  listen,  when  I  learned 
that  a  man  with  whom  I  see  you  continually  was  tclliny 
your  most  private  affairs  to  a  stranger,  cursing  you  now 
and  then  (for  what  I  could  not  make  out  at  first) ,  and 
telling  the  man  Crosby  how  you  have  been  led  on  and  on, 
with  a  great  deal  of  difficulty ,  to  —  you  know  what ! ' ' 

"  Pooh !  "  said  Hammersmith :  "  you  must  be  mistaken. 
I  tell  you  the  thing  is  impossible.  You  must  have  mis- 
taken the  names.  Tufton  would  never  behave  so  shab- 
bily to  me." 

"  Wait  till  you  hear  all.  Crosby  asked  how  it  was 
managed,  and  if  3x511  were  a  hard  bird  to  catch.  And,  on 
my  word,  Tufton  told  him  the  whole  storjT,  from  the  very 
first  night  that  you  went  on  the  stage  with  him,  —  '  The 
Emerald  Grotto,'  I  think  he  called  the  play.  If  you 
doubt  it,  I  can  tell  }'ou  many  things  that  you  will  remem- 
ber as  haA'ing  happened,  probably." 

"  No,  no,  go  on !"  said  Hammersmith,  excited  now,  and 
listening  eagerly. 

"  Tufton  told  him  all  this  ;  how  you  were  at  last  caught 
by  old  Boggle,  made  to  sign  the  paper,  and  then  came 
tearing  out  to  Cambridge  in  a  hack.  They  were  intensely 
amused  at  this  ;  and  I  could  hear  one  of  them  chuckling  to 
himself,  while  the  other  laughed  heartily.  Crosby  asked, 
with  an  oath,  how  you  were  off,  whether  you  bled  easily, 
»nd  so  on.  Tufton  answered,  with  a  string  of  equally 
l_olite  words,  that  he  had  been  most  confoundedly  mis- 
taken in  you ;  that  he  had  taken  you  for  a  '  fearful  swell,' 
as  he  called  you,  but  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  get 
more  than  a  single  hundred  out  of  you,  and  j'ou  were 
scared  to  death  about  the  payment  of  the  thousand  dol- 
lars. And  now,  if  you  want  to  be  satisfied  that  Tufton 
'  has  been  trying  to  ruin  you  utterly  and  completely,  though 


182  HAMMERSMITH  • 

most  slyly,  let  me  tell  you  that  Crosby  asked,  in  quite  low 
tones,  '  What  division  are  you  going  to  make,  Tuf  ? '  And 
Tufton  answered,  '  Half  and  half:  couldn't  make  a  better 
divy.  I  get  half,  Boggle  and  Emily  half.  With  what  I 
have  out  of  Fennex,  I  think  we  shall  have  enough  for  our 
passage-money,  at  any  rate.'  They  talked  a  long  while, 
discussed  some  matters  apparently  relating  to  parties  in 
New  York,  as  far  as  I  could  learn,  — and  of  about  the 
same  character  as  this  affair  of  yours  too,  —  and  at  last 
got  up  and  left.  If  I  had  needed  any  confirmation  of  the 
names,  I  had  it ;  for  I  saw  through  my  curtains  the  elegant 
Tufton  paying  his  shot  at  the  counter,  and  introducing  his 
friend  to  Kent,  —  '  My  friend  Crosby,  Kent,'  —  and  they 
shook  hands,  Kent  proffering  a  cigar.  I  waited  till  they 
were  some  minutes  gone,  Kent  meanwhile  being  relieved 
by  his  boy,  and  then  came  out. 

' '  I  should  have  sent  you  word  the  first  thing  this  morn- 
ing, if  I  had  not  questioned  in  my  mind  whether  I  was 
called  upon  to  meddle  in  another  man's  affairs.  I  have 
been  debating  this  since  morning,  rather  inclining  to  be- 
lieve that  I  had  best  leave  it  alone ;  but,  as  I  happen  to 
know  that  Tufton  has  been  preparing  all  day  to  leave 
Cambridge,  I  thought  I  must  certainly  tell  3*011  to-night. 
The  shower  came  up  this  afternoon,  and  prevented  your 
rowing ;  so  that  I  could  not  see  you  at  the  boat-houses, 
and  left  my  note  in  your  room." 

Tom  had  been  stalking  and  fuming  about  the  room  dur- 
ing this  recital,  much  as  he  had  been  doing  not  so  many 
weeks  before  in  a  certain  little  court  in  Boston,  —  and  this 
is  the  sequel !  This  the  substitute  for  that  rosy  pleasure- 
ground  up  the  three  flights  of  stairs  ! 

"  Breese,  I  tell  you  that  this  all  seems  like  the  poorest 
invention  and  moonshine.  You  will  pardon  my  saying  so, 
when  I  say  in  the  same  breath,  that  I  know  you  are  not 
the  man  to  lend  yourself  to  any  nonsense,  or  to  believe 


HIS  HABVABD  DAYS.  183 

a  harum-scarum  story  without  foundation.  If  it  is  true,  I 
shall  thank  3~ou  from  the  bottom  of  m}-  heart.  You  will, 
of  course,  believe  that  I  wish  to  sift  the  thing  for  n^self 
If  it  is  not  true,  I  thank  }'ou  equally  for  j'our  kindness,  aa 
I  know  it  is  proffered  from  the  best  of  motives.  Good- 
by."  And  he  put  out  his  hand. 

"  Where  are  }xni  going?  "  asked  Breese. 

"  To  Tuftou's,  of  course,  to  charge  him  with  this." 

"  You'll  let  me  go?  "  asked  Breese. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Tom,  "if  you  wish.  It  may  be  bet- 
ter." And,  taking  an  umbrella,  the  two  sallied  out  in  the 
drizzling  rain,  arm  in  arm,  for  Tufton's.  Arm  in  arm,  the 
man  who  had  for  months  been  leading  the  gayest  and  free- 
est  life  in  Cambridge,  and  the  man  who  had  been  plodding 
the  most  like  an  ideal  student,  scorning  self-indulgence, 
polishing  his  buckler  of  scholarship  in  every  possible  way, 
and  girding  himself  with  all  good  resolutions  religiously 
kept,  and  yet  not  so  much  of  an  anchorite,  or  so  re- 
moved from  S3inpathy  with  his  fellows,  but  that  he  could 
stir  himself  to  do  a  good  turn  to  Hammersmith  here,  who 
had  barely  spoken  to  him  during  the  whole  year,  and  go 
with  him  to  beard  the  villain  Tufton  in  his  den. 

It  had  been  raining  since  noon,  now  a  downright  pour- 
ing shower,  now  an  intermittent  mizzle, — one  of  those 
variant  days  of  early  summer,  when  the  exceeding  beauty 
of  the  morning  changes  to  later  cloudiness  and  showers, 
as  though  Nature  did  not  quite  know  whether  to  laugh  or 
be  sad  over  her  own  loveliness  and  her  nryriad  budding 
charms,  until,  like  a  beautiful  petulant  child,  she  ends 
with  tears  and  gleams  of  sunshine  at  once. 

Tom  and  Breese  knock  at  Tuftou's  rooms  :  no  answer. 
The}'  push  open  Ms  parlor-door  and  go  in.  The  man 
Jordan  is  asleep  in  a  window-seat.  They  pull  him,  and 
wake  him  to  a  maudlin  consciousness.  He  has  been  in- 
ilulging  in  a  solitaiy  re*- el,  for  which  he  has  abundant 


184  HAMMERSMITH: 

precedent  in  the  late  occupant's  career,  and  has  been 
dreaming  of  the  fine  things  that  he  will  buy  unto  himself 
when  Tufton  shall  send  him  his  salary  from  New  York, 

—  easiby-persuaded  Jordan,  happy  in  your  fuddled  hopes  ! 
Tufton  is  gone,  — left  for  New  York  early  in  the  after- 
noon, —  two  trunks,  all  his  personal  effects,  most  of  his 
ornaments  and  pictures,  little  else.     So  much  Tom  learns 
by   boozy   extracts   from   the   grinning    Jordan,    wooing 
temporary  bliss,    and   by   personal   investigation   of  the 
premises. 

Tufton  is  gone,  stolen  off,  like  a  thief  in  the  night, 
under  protecting  cloudiness,  carrying  his  diplomacy  and 
his  villany  to  some  outer  limbo,  where  we  need  not  follow 
him ;  earning,  also,  a  bundle  of  unreceipted  bills  from 
divers  Cambridge  and  Boston  tradesmen  who  will  be  seen 
to-morrow  sorrowfully  re-appropriating  such  of  their  bor- 
rowed finery  as  they  can  lay  hands  on  ;  canying,  as  well, 
a  pot  of  Tom's  money,  not  large,  to  be  sure,  but  likely 
to  be  increased  by  further  remittances  from  the  capitalist 
Boggle,  if  Torn  shall  not  succeed  in  wresting  his  note 
from  the  hands  of  the  swindling  actor. 

And  yet,  with  all  this  load  that  Tufton  was  carrying  off, 
increased  by  the  maledictions  and  evil  prognostics  of  his 
late  associates  (which  followed  him  in  a  black  brood) ,  there 
was  something  else  in  his  caravan  which  cost  him  vastly 
more  for  transportation,  and  yet  was  infinitely  pleasanter 
to  convoy  than  the  appurtenances  mentioned,  —  the  black, 
battered  trunks,  unreceipted  bills,  and  boxes  of  knick- 
knacks. 

For,  by  the  next  day  at  noon,  it  was  known  that  Tufton 

—  the  daint}1,  the  master  of  feasts,  and  worshipper  of  all 
that  is  delicate  and  refined  —  had  left  for  New  York  with  a 
young  party  passing  by  the  name  of  Miss  Emily  Boggle  or 
Miss  Graciana  Lee  indifferently  in  these  parts,  but  gifted 
with  a  variety  of  aliases,  which  she  assumed  and  laid  aside 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  18,5 

by  my  lord's  orders  in  the  different  divisions  of  the  globe 
where  they  starred.  They  were  gone,  not  to  be  heard 
from  for  many  long  months ;  and  Cambridge  hummed 
with  the  rumors  and  counter-rumors,  the  winged  and 
seven-leagued  reports,  the  exaggerations,  suspicions,  con- 
jectures, which  the  affair  created,  and  which  all  revolved 
about  an  unhappy  central  figure  now  temporarily  reduced 
to  stony  despair. 

"How  does  he  take  it?"  asked  Albemarle  in  Goldie'3 
rooms,  several  evenings  after  Tufton's  flight. 

"  Lord  Harry,  but  he's  mightity  cut  up !  "  said  Penhal- 
low,  Hammersmith's  chum.  "It's  really  pitiable  to  see 
the  poor  fellow  mooning  about  the  room,  trying  to  study, 
and  every  now  and  then  slamming  his  books  down,  and 
striding  about.  He  gets  up  in  the  night,  too,  and  sits  at 
the  window,  looking  out  for  a  whole  hour  together  some- 
times, though  he  would  brain  me  if  he  knew  I  told  any- 
bod}*  of  it.  But  I'm  really  alarmed  about  him." 

"Serves  him  right,"  said  Ladbroke,  "for  putting  on 
such  airs  as  he  does.  He  isn't  such  a  devilish  shrewd 
fellow,  after  all.  Catch  me  lending  my  money  to  Tufton, 
or  being  gulled  by  an  actress ! ' ' 

"Can't  we  do  any  thing  to  cheer  him  up?"  asked 
Pinckne}T. 

"Hardly  know  what,"  put  in  Goldie,  "he's  so  con- 
foundedly touchy !  I  can't  do  any  thing ;  that's  certain. 
We've  hardty  had  a  cordial  talk  for  a  whole  year.  I  never 
knew  a  man  to  put  his  whole  soul  into  any  thing,  in  my 
life,  the  way  he  puts  all  his  into  rowing,  though.  Jove, 
how  he  pulls  !  I  can  feel  the  boat  leap  now  ;  so  different 
from  when  Albertson  was  in  !  And  when  he  reaches  for- 
ward, and  lays  on  to  the  beginning  of  the  stroke,  I  can 
hear  him  breathing  like  a  3*oung  giant  right  behind  me." 

"  That's  the  worst  part  of  it,"  said  McGregor.    "  He  11 


186  HAMMERSMITH: 

never  last  till  Worcester,  if  he  works  so  like  thunder  now 
I  tell  you  a  man  can't  get  on  in  rowing  unless  his  mind'a 
as  clear  as  a  bell.  And  Hammersmith  is  in  a  continual 
worry,  anybody  can  see." 

"Why  can't  you  talk  to  him?  "  asked  Goldie.  "  You've 
more  of  a  right  than  any  of  us,  as  bow." 

"  Haven't  I  tallied  to  him !  "  said  McGregor. 

"  What  did  he  say?  "  asked  several  men. 

"Say!  What  do  you  suppose  he  would  say?  You 
know  his  spirit.  I  told  him  as  politely  as  I  could,  one 
day,  that  I  was  sorry  to  hear  of  his  trouble.  We  were 
dressing  in  the  boat-houses  ;  and  he  threw  down  his  towel, 
and  said,  '  See  here,  Mac :  I've  no  objection  to  your 
thinking  what  yon  please  of  me  ;  but  you  will  particularly 
oblige  me  by  keeping  yonv  thoughts  to  yourself.  I  don't 
want  anybody's  sj-mpathy.'  " 

"  That  was  surly  enough,  anyway,"  said  Tilbury,  whose 
father  had  amassed  an  immense  fortune  in  carriage- 
making,  and  had  sent  up  the  first  Tilbury  of  the  line  to 
receive  a  little  universit}T  varnish. 

"  I  told  him,  another  day,  that,  as  we  were  drawing  on 
in  the  term,  I  should  expect  him  to  keep  up  his  training 
with  the  rest  of  the  crew,  and  observe  the  crew  rules  about 
hours  of  retiring,  and  so  on.  He  merely  nodded,  and 
walked  off.  Then  I  heard  of  his  being  in  town  very  late 
night  before  last,  and  expostulated  with  him,  —  as  I  have 
a  right  to  do,  by  Jove !  and  as  I  mean  to  do  by  all  of 
you,  or  you  can  get  another  bow.  He  turned  on  me  like  a 
flash,  and  .said,  '  If  3*ou  don't  wish  me  in  the  boat,  3-011  arc 
quite  at  libert}-  to  fill  my  place :  I  put  my  resignation  in 
your  hands,  to  be  acted  on  whenever  you  see  fit.'  I  told 
him  I  didn't  mean  any  thing  of  that  sort.  '  Don't  I  do 
my  work  as  well  as  the  rest  of  them? '  he  asked.  '  Don't 
I  keep  up  my  side  of  the  boat?'  — '  Certainty,'  I  said  • 
'  you  pull  like  a  Trojan.  But,  Hammersmith,  you  can'* 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  187 

• 

keep  it  up,  you  can't  keep  it  up,  if  you  don't  train  as 
carefully  as  the  rest.  You'll  go  all  to  pieces  some  day, 
I'm  afraid,  just  when  we  want  to  call  on  you  for  your  best 
work.'  —  'Don't  you  borrow  any  trouble  on  that  score,' 
he  added.  '  I'll  be  on  hand  for  any  work  3-011  want  of 
me  :  only  I  think  it's  a  bit  mean  to  go  about  spying  into 
a  mar.'s  private  habits,  — just  when  he  goes  to  bed,  how 
many  times  he  winks  during  the  day,  and  so  on.  I'll  do 
my  share  of  the  pulling :  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  that. 
When  I  find  I  can't,  I'll  let  you  know.'  What  more  could 
I  say?  He's  too  valuable  a  man  to  lose:  I  don't  know 
what  we  should  do  without  him ;  and  he's  as  sensitive  as 
a  gill  about  being  spoken  to." 

"  Some  of  the  girls  he's  been  in  the  habit  of  speaking 
to  are  not  especially  famed  for  their  sensitiveness,  I  should 
say,"  chimed  in  Ladbroke. 

"  Come,  Ladbroke,  why  are  you  always  picking  at 
Hammersmith  in  this  way?  "  said  Pinckney.  "  Striking  a 
man  when  he's  down  is  hardly  the  thing  for  gentlemen, 
—  whcro  /live,  at  least." 

"Hang  him  !  He's  always  treating  a  fellow  as  though 
he  were  a  prince,  and  could  order  us  about  as  he  chose," 
answered  Ladbroke. 

"I  don't  think  so,  at  all,"  said  Penhallow.  "He's 
might}'  high-strung  and  impetuous  ;  but  I  think  he  minds 
his  own  business  as  well  as  most  people." 

"  If  you  mean  me,  I  beg  you  to  recall  the  expression," 
said  Ladbroke.  "  I  flatter  myself  I  know  what  my  own 
business  is  as  well  as  the  next  man !  " 

"  I  mentioned  no  names,  and  I  meant  no  offence.  If 
the  shoe  fits,  let  it  go  on.  I  don't  think  it  is  very  good 
form,  though,  to  say  things  behind  a  man's  back  that 
,  you  would  not  dare  to  say  before  his  face." 

'•That's  so  !  "  said  Pinckne}-.  "  And  I  wish  some  of  MS 
fellows  could  do  something  to  help  him  out  of  his  troubles. 
/ — How  much  does  he  owe,  Pen?  " 


188    -  HAMMERSMITH: 

"  I  can't  say  exactly  Several  thousands,  I'm  afraid. 
He  never  would  tell  me,  though  I've  hinted  that  I  was 
ready  to  help  him  with  my  indorsement,  if  he  wanted  to 
raise  the  wind." 

"Fennex  was  badly  bit  last  year,  wasn't  he?"  asked 
Albemarle. 

"  Yes,  but  never  knew  that  Tufton  was  at  the  bottom 
of  it,  any  more  than  Hammersmith  did.  He  hasn't  paid 
up  every  thing  yet,  I  believe." 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  that  Hammersmith  and  Fen- 
nex are  going  to  pay  old  Boggle  any  thing  more,  now 
that  they  know  it  was  a  put-up  job?  "  asked  somebody. 

"I  don't  know  about  Fennex,"  returned  Penhallow ; 
"but  Tom,  I  believe,  hasn't  made  up  his  mind  whether 
he  has  a  right  to  go  back  of  his  signature,  even  if  he  has 
been  taken  in.  I  know  he  went  in  to  see  some  lawyers 
about  the  question  to-day." 

"What  a  jackass!"  said  Ladbroke.  "To  think  of 
paying  a  cent  in  such  a  scrape  !  " 

"All  I  can  say,"  said  McGregor,  "is,  that,  if  we 
lose  that  man,  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do  at  Worces- 
ter. /  know  nobody  to  take  his  place  in  the  waist,  and 
I've  scoured  the  college.  For  his  weight,  he  is  the  most 
powerful  oar  we  have  up  here  ;  and  his  style  is  something 
only  inferior  to  Miles' s :  perhaps  he  feathers  a  little  too 
high  for  beaut}7,  but  that  is  easily  overcome.  I  have  the 
greatest  admiration  and  sympathy  for  the  fellow  ;  and  it's 
almost  enough  to  make  a  man  cry  to  see  him  working  like 
a  horse  in  the  boat,  never  opening  his  head  to  say  a  word, 
and  going  off  as  quiet  as  a  churchyard  from  the  boat- 
houses,  when  we're  landed." 

"  George  dear,  what  are  all  these  frightful  stories  I 
hear  about  Mr.  Hammersmith  ? ' '  asked  Ellen  Darby  of 
her  cousin  Goldie,  about  a  week  after  rny  Lord  Tufton  had 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  189 

vanished  into  outer  darkness.  They  were  sitting  under 
the  gaslight  in  the  Dart^'s'  parlor. 

"  Oh  !  nothing  in  particular,"  said  Goldie.  "  He's  all 
right." 

"  Now,  }*ou  need  not  attempt  to  satisfy  me  in  that  way, 
George.  I  know  he  is  not  all  right." 

"  IIo,  ho !  what's  this !  How  do  you  know  it,  if  you 
please,  Miss  Omniscience?"  And  Goldie  threw  down  a 
copy  of  "  Punch,"  over  which  he  was  smiling,  and  turned 
towards  his  cousin.  She  put  into  her  lap  a  book  that  she 
had  been  pretending  to  read,  and  said,  with  a  nonchalant 
air,  — 

"  Why,  how  can  I  help  knowing  it?  Who  doesn't  know 
it  ?  I  don't  know  just  what  it  all  is ;  but  I  keep  hearing 
the  most  horrible  insinuations  wherever  I  go.  Plas  he 
really  had  such  a  fearful  time,  George?  " 

' '  How  do  I  know  ?  I  have  enough  to  do  without  both- 
ering myself  about  other  people's  affairs,  Heaven  knows !  " 

"  That's  all  very  fine.  But  you  are  not  as  ignorant  as 
you  seem,  I  know  perfectly  well,  }~ou  horrid  sophomore ! 
If  there  ever  was  a  disagreeable,  conceited,  ridiculous 
set  of  men,  it  is  you  sophomores !  And  the  way  you 
stand  up  for  each  other  is  something  marvellous.  It  is 
your  only  redeeming  quality.  I  don't  believe  you  would 
acknowledge  it,  if  one  of  your  class  should  commit  a 
murder,  or  steal  somebody's  money,  or  do  any  thing  else 
that's  frightful." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  we  would,"  said  Goldie  merril}-. 
"  We  would  keep  on  associating  with  him  just  the  same, 
and  sharpen  his  knives  for  him,  and  let  him  pick  our 
pockets  whenever  he  chose  ;  and  when  he  became  too  bad 
— why,  we  would  bring  him  round  to  our  cousins,  let  them 
convert  him,  and  send  hint  on  his  way  rejoicing." 

•;  You're  as  cross  as  you  can  ve,  George,  and  I  don't 
understand  at  all  what  you  mean !  /  don't  want  to  con- 
yrert  anybody.  Who  is  there  to  be  converted?  " 


190  HAMMERSMITH: 

"  Oh,  nobody !  But  what  have  you  heard  about  Ham 
mersmith?  " 

"Oh!  I've  heard  nothing.  I  was  only  joking,  of 
course,"  and  she  began  to  read.  But  Goldie  —  who  waa 
a  favorite  cousin,  and  as  plucky  as  favorite  cousins  ought 
always  to  be  —  came  over  to  her,  and  entered  a  pleading 
protest,  as  if  he  were  the  humblest  sophomore  of  his 
class  ;  and  Ellen  said  that  he  was  the  most  provoking  fel- 
low she  had  ever  known. 

"  Of  course  I  am !  "  said  Goldie,  the  provoker.  "You 
never  knew  a  fellow  like  me  before,  — first  in  war,  first  in 
peace,  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  country's  cousins  !  " 

"I'm  sorry  for  the  cousins,"  said  Ellen,  with  mock 
gravity.  "  But,  George  dear,  what  is  it  all?  " 

"All  what?" 

"  All  this  about  Mr.  Hammersmith." 

' '  Appears  to  me  yon  are  a  good  deal  interested  in 
Hammersmith,"  said  Goldie.  "  Do  you  waste  your  sym- 
pathy on  all  of  us  fellows  when  we're  in  a  tight  place  ? 
If  so,  I  shall  go  off  instanter  and  kill  a  '  goody.'  " 

"  Please  be  serious  for  one  moment,  George  !  " 

"  I  have  had  no  thought  of  any  thing  else  since  I  was 
born.  When  does  the  sermon  begin?"  And  Goldie 
folded  his  arms  resignedly. 

"  You're  horrid,  and  I'll  have  nothing  more  to  say  to 
you !  "  But  she  could  not  read  "  Jane  Eyre,"  with  Gol- 
die peeping  over  the  edge  of  her  book  in  mockery  of  great 
grief;  and  presently  she  laid  the  book  down,  and  leaned 
her  head  on  her  hand. 

"  Hammersmith !  Fresh  Pond  !  Tid-de-um-dum-dum !  " 
said  Goldie,  drumming  an  accompaniment  to  his  badinage 
on  the  centre-table,  and  looking  quizzingly  at  the  fair, 
drooping  head. 

"George,  what  do  you  mean?  You  have  no  right  to 
talk  so !  You  know  it !  "  And  with  a  fine  feminine  rage 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  191 

she  added,  "  If  I  feel  a  special  interest  ill  Mr.  Hammer- 
smith's college  career,  is  it  wonderful?  Is  it  wonderful, 
when  you  reflect  that  he  saved  my  life  once,  and  has  never 
done  any  thing  to  make  me  lose  my  respect  for  him?" 

But  the  quizzing  drummer  only  continued  his  ' '  Tid-de- 
um-dum-dum!  Tid-de-um-dum-dum !  "  as  regular  as  a 
metronome,  marking  time  with  his  fingers. 

"  You  are  perfectly  horrid,  George!  I  never  saw  you 
so  before.  "What  is  the  matter?  If  you  think  I  am 
ashamed  to  confess  that  I  am  interested  to  have  Mr. 
Hammersmith  succeed,  and  go  on  through  college 
smoothly,  you  are  infinitely  mistaken.  If  you  are  such  a 
sill}*  boy  as  to  imagine  any  thing  else,  you  are  still  more 
at  fault.  I  believe  yon  are  the  hardest-hearted  sopho- 
more in  your  class,  —  and  that  is  saj-ing  a  great  deal,  — 
for  I  know  Mr.  Hammersmith  is  having  a  fearful  time, 
and  I  hear,  though  I  cannot  believe  it,  that  my  cousin 
George  Goklie  is  not  doing  what  he  can  to  help  him." 

The  drumming  stopped. 

"  Ellen,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Oh  !  nothing  in  particular.  I'm  all  right ! "  Roguish- 
ness  personified ! 

"  But  I  insist,"  said  Goldie. 

"  Ah,  you  insist,  Mr.  Czar !  " 

"  Ellen,  what  is  all  this  nonsense?  " 

"  A  little  more  careful  in  your  choice  of  words,  if  you 
please." 

"Please,  what  is  it?" 

"What  is  what?" 

"  All  this  that  you  say  of  Hammersmith  and  me." 

"  Seems  to  me  you  are  considerably  interested  n  Mr. 
Hammersmith,"  retorted  Miss  Darby. 

"Come,  come,  Ellen,  I  apologize.  Don't  be  too  hard 
on  a  fellow !  What  is  it  ?  Has  he  been  complaining  to 
you  of  m v  coldness  ?  ' ' 


192  HAMMERSMITH: 

"Who?  Mr.  Hammersmith!  What  do  you  think  he 
is  made  of  ?  Mr.  Hammersmith  complain  to  me  of  you ! 
Why,  George,  you  must  be  ill ! " 

' '  Has  he  been  here  lately  ? ' ' 

"Not  for  weeks.  I  have  hardly  seen  him  for  weeks: 
so  you  may  be  re-assured  on  that  point.  He  took  me  out, 
as  you  may  remember,  at  the  Lyceum  '  German '  two 
months  ago,  and  I  occasionally  see  him  at  church  with 
Mr.  Fayerweather.  But  I  have  hardly  seen  him,  even  in 
the  street,  for  weeks  now.  Oh,  yes  !  I  did  see  him,  only 
two  days  ago,  coming  out  of  Church  Street ;  but  he  bowed 
very  coldly,  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  went  across 
to  the  quadrangle.  He  looked  very  sad." 

"  Ellen,  what  do  you  know  about  his  affairs?  " 

"  Oh  !  very  little,  of  course." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you?  " 

"  Nothing  whatever.  George,  I  will  relieve  your  mind 
on  the  subject.  I  know  enough  already  ;  and  I  have  my 
own  opinion  of  him,  and  of  several  other  people  as 
well." 

"  But  don't  you  want  me  to  tell  you  more  about  him?  " 
asked  Goldie. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  another  word  about  his  affairs. 
I  have  learned  a  good  deal  from  your  manner  in  the  last 
five  minutes,  though  you  have  not  been  over-communi- 
cative." 

"  Girls  are  the  most  extraordinary  creatures  under  the 
sun,  'pon  my  word!  "  said  Goldie,  beaten  at  his  own 
game  of  provocation,  and  looking  full  of  wonder  at  his 
cousin.  "  I  believe  they  know  every  thing !  " 

"  There  you  are  too  complimentary.  They  don't  know 
every  thing,  and  they  do  not  wish  to  know  every  thing. 
But  you  cannot  suppose  that  two  such  overpowering  ge- 
niuses as  Mr.  George  Goldie  and  Mr.  Thomas  Hammer 
smith  can  have  a  quarrel  lasting  for  over  a  twelvemonth^ 
and  their  admiring  cousins  and  friends  not  know  it !" 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  193 

"  We've  had  no  quarrel,"  urged  Goldie. 

"  Or  that  Mr.  Tom  Hammersmith  can  make  sucL 
delightful  acquaintances  as  Mr.  Guy  Tufton,  and  others 
needless  to  mention,  and  yet  keep  Cambridge  sewing- 
societies,  and  the  world  in  general,  in  ignorance  of  the 
fact!" 

"  They  do  know  every  thing,"  said  Goldie. 

"  And  if  Mr.  Tom  Hammersmith  is  having  a  fearful 
tune,  and  needs  all  the  help  and  sympathy  possible,  and 
men  like  Mr.  George  Goldie,  who  know  thoroughly  the 
facts  of  the  case,  and  how  he  has  been  deceived  and  ill- 
treated,  hold  aloof,  and  let  him  fight  it  out  alone,  can 
3'ou  suppose  that  the  news  does  not,  sooner  or  later,  reach 
even  the  provincial  Cambridge  girls,  as  you  are  pleased  to 
callus?" 

"  Well,  if  you  realty  want  to  discuss  the  matter,  Ellen, 
I'm  willing.  The  fact  is  —  and  you  know  it  well  enough 
—  that  Hammersmith  wants  no  sympathy,  allows  nobody 
to  speak  of  his  troubles,  and  is  just  the  kind  of  a  fellow  to 
prefer  to  fight  his  own  battles,  to  use  your  expression." 

"  I've  no  doubt  of  it.  No  manly  young  man  wants 
to  have  idle  pit}*,  which  is  almost  alwa3's  another  name 
for  meddling  curiosity ;  or  wishes  gossip,  or  a  stranger's 
interest,  wasted  upon  him.  But  you  are  his  friend, 
George,  or  were ;  and  I  am  very  much  mistaken  in  the 
man  and  his  character,  if  he  does  not  feel  your  desertion 
more  than  all  the  misery  that  he  is  evidently  undergoing, 
thanks  to  Mr.  Tufton!  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  minds  it  a  bit." 

' '  Then  I  must  inform  you  that  you  are  very  much  mis- 
taken. I  have  reasons  to  know  that  Mr.  Hammersmith 
is  especially  despondent  because  just  such  men  as  you, 
who  ought  to  try  to  cheer  liim  up,  if  nothing  more,  keep 
away  from  him." 

"  But  what  would  you  have  me  do?    I  warned  him  long 


194  HAMMEB.SMITH : 

ago  what  he  might  expect,  if  he  trained  with  Tufton  and 
his  crowd." 

"  What  if  he  were  young  and  inexperienced,  and 
thought  you  might  exaggerate  the  danger?  " 

"  Then  he  must  take  the  consequences.  He  has  made 
hi«  bed,  and  he  must  lie  in  it." 

"  Is  that  the  proper  way  of  looking  at  it?  Would  you 
have  liked  him  any  better  if  he  had  taken  your  advice  at 
once,  and  said,  '  My  dear  fellow  '  (as  you  always  call  each 
other) ,  '  you  are  right.  Tufton  is  an  awful  bad  fellow. 
He's  very  dangerous  cornpan}^ ;  and  I  promise  you  that 
I'll  never  darken  his  doors  again,  or  speak  to  him  when  we 
meet'  ?  Wouldn't  you  have  thought  him  a  pretty  speci- 
men of  a  weakling  to  have  given  in  like  that?  And  can't 
you  appreciate  how  easy  it  was  for  him  to  be  led  astray, 
and  how  novel  and  alluring  all  this  life  must  have  been  to 
him  at  first?  You  remember  his  uncle,  Mr.  Hammer- 
smith, telling  my  father  how  carefully  he  had  been  kept 
at  home,  and  in  what  seclusion ;  and  how  he  feared,  that, 
if  he  had  his  head  too  much,  he  might  run  away  with  him- 
self, —  I  think  it  was  some  such  expression  that  he  used. 
If  he  had  been  at  Exeter,  as  you  have,  dear  George, 
he  might  have  known  men  better,  and  not  have  been  so 
easily  blinded." 

"  May  I  say  tid-de-um-dum  just  once  ?"  interposed 
Goldie  prankishly. 

"No,  not  once.  You  are  very  silly.  And  I  do  not 
believe  you  care  a  straw  about  Mr.  Hammersmith,  or  ever 
did." 

"Now,  see  here,  Ellen,  all  you  say  is  very  true,  very 
true  indeed ;  and  I  will  not  deny  that  Hammersmith  is 
having  a  fearful  time,  as  you  say.  But  what  would  you 
have  me  do?  I  can't  go  down  and  lick  the  dust  at  his 
feet." 

4'Nof  at  all!     You  don't  suppose 'I  want  you  to.     But 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  195 

would  it  be  such  a  very  difficult  thing  to  conquer  your  tre- 
mendous pride,  your  sophomoric  dignity,  and  go  and 
make  a  friendly  call  on  him  ?  Would  it  crush  your  dig- 
nity entirely  ?  You  need  not  pretend  that  you  have  ever 
tried  it ;  for  I  happen  to  know  that  you  have  not,  —  not 
for — let  me  see  — fifteen,  sixteen  months  now." 

"  Ellen,  you're  a  perfect  mystery !  Who  keeps  you  so 
weU  posted  in  college-affairs  ?  I  shall  have  the  goodies 
and  skips  cross-examined  at  once.  There  must  be  a  femi- 
nine Freemasonry  dogging  us  when  we  least  expect  it. 
Tell  me,  what  time  did  I  go  to  my  rooms  last  evening? 
What  is  my  beloved  chum  doing  at  this  moment?  No 
answer !  Do  3*011  need  to  look  at  my  palm,  —  ecce  I " 

"Now,  George,  promise  me  you  will  be  good,  forget 
your  silly  quarrel  with  Mr.  Hammersmith,  and  tell  me 
to-morrow  evening  that  you  have  made  up  with  him,  and 
are  in  a  fair  way  to  be  friends  again." 

"Ellen,  I  can't  do  it:  he's  too  mightily  stiff-necked. 
I  should  only  get  snubbed  for  my  pains,  I  feel  sure." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,  and  I  think  you  are  very  cowardly 
to  be  afraid  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Miss  Darby.  And, 
rising,  she  took  from  a  writing-desk  a  small  manuscript- 
book  which  she  shielded  with  her  hand  as  she  came  to  the 
lights.  "  Let  me  read  you  one  or  two  things  from  a  little 
treasure-book  of  mine,  though  I  know  you  will  not  mind 
them :  '  We  are  all  of  us  very  weak,  and  exposed  to  many 
evils  from  within  and  without ;  and  every  man  finds  he 
hath  enough  to  do  to  govern  his  own  spirit,  and  to  bear 
his  own  burden.  Let  us  not  add  to  it  by  offence  and 
mutual  provocation  of  one  another.  It  may  be  —  did  we 
but  know  and  were  acquainted  with  the  condition  of 
Nthers — we  ourselves  would  think  it  very  hard  measure 
vo  add  to  their  sorrow,  and  would  rather  help  to  bear  their 
burdens.'  That  is  from  Whichcote,"  she  said,  blushing 
prettily  to  find  herself  reading  thus  to  her  handsome  great 


196  HAMMERSMITH: 

cousin,  and  doing  the  very  thing  against  which  she  aad 
at  first  protested,  —  trying  to  convert  Goldie  to  her  for- 
giving point  of  view.  This  coincidence  occurred  to  her 
as  she  was  reading,  and  added  to  her  graceful  tremor. 
But  she  went  on  reading  one  more  extract :  "  '  Suffer  not 
your  thoughts  to  dwell  on  the  injuries  you  have  received, 
or  the  provoking  words  that  have  been  spoken  to  you. 
Not  only  learn  the  art  of  neglecting  them  at  the  time  you 
receive  them,  but  let  them  grow  less  and  less  every  mo- 
ment, till  they  die  out  of  your  mind.'  There,  Mr.  Goldie, 
that  was  written  for  you  !  ' ' 

"Did  you  write  it?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  It  applies  to  you,  I  mean.  It's  anonymous, 
but  pertinent,  is  it  not?  " 

"  You  wrote  it,  I  know  you  did  !  You're  very  sly  ;  but 
it  sounds  just  like  }rou.  Let  me  see  the  book?  " 

"  By  no  means,"  said  she,  pocketing  the  thin,  morocco- 
bound  book.  *'  I  consider  it  a  great  favor  to  have  read  to 
you  from  it.  No  one  has  ever  been  so  privileged  before. 
And  you  do  not  even  thank  me  !  ' ' 

"  How  frightful !  Thanks,  ever  so  much,  my  dear  Miss 
Anonymous,  for  your  pertinent  texts.  I  suppose  3-011  wish 
me  to  preach  a  sermon  from  them,  or  rather  bring  3-011 
word  that  I  have  acted  upon  them,  eh?  " 

"  I  do  ;  and  3'ou  are  going  to  do  it." 

"  How  long  will  3Tou  give  me?  A  man  can't  swallow 
his  pride  all  at  one  dose,"  pleaded  Goldie. 

"  It's  over  the  sooner,  and  3~ou  will  feel  better :  I  know 
you  will.  But  I'll  let  3*011  have,  —  well,  I'll  be  generous  ; 
I'll  let  3rou  have  a  week:  this  is  Thursda3',  isn't  it?  If 
you  do  not  bring  me  word,  before  next  Thursda3'  morning, 
that  3*ou  have  done  3'our  very  best  to  get  on  a  good  footing 
with  Mr.  Hammersmith  again,  farewell,  cousin  George. 
And  mind,  if  3-ou  call  here  ever  so  man37  times  before  that 
(not  that  3'ou  are  apt  to),  and  send  c>rer  so  plaintive  mes- 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  197 

§ages,  I  shall  be  imperiously  '  not  at  home '  to  j'ou,  sir, 
unless  you  bring  the  news  I  want."  And  with  more  such 
talk,  simple  cousinly  badinage  and  pleading,  the  two  rati- 
fied their  compact ;  and  Goldie  presently  left  for  his  rooms. 

He  could  not  resist  the  temptation,  as  Miss  Darby  fol- 
lowed, and  was  closing  the  hall-door  after  him,  to  turn 
and  say  lightly,  "  Tid-de-um-dum-dum,  Tid-de-um-dum- 
dum,"  lifting  a  warning  finger. 

But  she  made  a  saucy  moue  at  him,  and  closed  the 
door ;  while  Goldie  ran  down  the  gravel  walk,  and  out 
under  the  elms,  on  his  way  home,  pondering  on  his  inter- 
view with  his  beautiful  cousin,  and  on  the  marvellously 
permeating  nature  of  college-news. 

How  could  she  have  learned  so  much  of  him  and  his 
friend?  How  could  she  know  almost  what  was  pass- 
ing in  his  mind?  How  could  she  know  what  was  just 
breaking  in  upon  his  own  consciousness,  —  that  it  was  in- 
expressibly silly  to  magnify  a  few  words  of  difference  that 
had  passed  between  himself  and  Hammersmith,  and  let 
them  keep  two  friends  apart  so  long?  He  was  not  espe- 
cially astute  ;  and  if  he  had  been,  and  had  not  been  much 
more  of  a  success  as  a  boating-man  than  as  a  student  of 
character,  he  would  still  have  been  in  the  same  bewilder- 
ment over  the  inexplicable  feminine  instinct,  which  divines, 
where  a  man  explores  and  seeks  proof. 

It  was  not  an  easy  task  that  his  cousin  had  thrust  upon 
him,  however.  He  had  the  young's  man's  inflated  sense 
of  personal  dignity  and  pride.  All  the  class  knew  of  his 
1  ukewarm  feeling  towards  Hammersmith ;  and  there  was 
more  than  one  thing  to  make  him  hesitate,  and  debate  in 
his  mind  whether  he  could  so  far  humble  himself  as  to 
make  overtures  to  Mr.  Tom,  —  Mr.  Tom,  whilom  a  stiff- 
necked  and  rather  scornful  young  gentleman,  who  appeared 
to  know  his  own  affairs,  and  wish  to  be  unmolested,  now 
*  sullen  young  sophomore  much  broken  in  spirit,  needing 


198  HAJVIMERSMITH: 

and  actually  craving  sympathy  in  his  inmost  heart,  but 
outwardly  repelling  it,  and  steeling  himself  against  ap- 
proach in  perverse  bo3T-fashion. 

So  that  into  the  midst  of  Goldie's  communings,  and  his 
reflections  on  the  "way  that  "  girls  seem  to  know  every 
thing,"  came  the  thought,  that  he,  Goldie,  No.  2  in  the 
'Varsity,  secretary  of  the  Institute,  and  mighty  leader,  as 
he  deemed  himself,  in  many  ways,  was  undertaking  a  rt'Je 
far  from  congenial,  very  difficult,  and  not  unlikely  to  end 
disastrously.  Whether  he  would  ever  have  carried  it 
through  if  he  had  been  left  to  his  own  devices,  or  how 
serious  a  cousinly  estrangement  would  have  been  effected 
by  his  failure,  is  entirety  a  matter  of  conjecture.  But  the 
week  of  the  cousins'  compact  was  fated  to  bring  on  events 
totally  unprophesied  lay  the  most  skilled  of  university 
augurs,  —  events  which  were  to  turn  the  thoughts  of  sev- 
eral men  into  quite  new  courses,  materially  affect  the 
private  relations  of  Tom  and  Goldie,  and  even  reach  so 
far  as  to  cast  a  shadow  on  the  field  of  college-sports  for  a 
time. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  199 


CHAPTER  XIH. 

CROSSING   SWORDS   WITH  THE   FACULTY. 

"Ubique,  Bed  prassertim  in  principum  et  regum  aulia,  eat  consil:um  optimum 
•ilere."  —  PETHA-SANCTA. 

"Chi  parla  semina,  chi  tace  raccoglie."  —  ITALIAN  PBOVKBB. 


days  later,  students  returning  from  early  chapel 
-L  had  their  attention  arrested  by  the  following  an- 
nouncement on  the  bulletin-boards,  about  which  an  excited 
throng  was  presently  collected  :  — 

CAMBRIDGE,  June  12,  185-. 

The  sophomore  class  is  notified,  that  unless  the  perpetrators 
of  the  vandalism  of  last  night  shall  come  forward,  and  make  them- 
selves known  to  the  faculty,  the  class  will  be  decimated,  and 
many  innocent  men  will  be  obliged  to  suffer. 

H.  W.  THUMPUM,  Secretary. 

Here  was  a  bombshell.  Few  that  read  the  fatal  bulle- 
tin were  yet  aware  of  the  nature  or  extent  of  the  offence 
comprehended  under  the  sinister  name  "vandalism;" 
but  all  who  read  it  took  in  the  idea  that  the  blood  of  the 
faculty  was  up,  and  retribution  was  preparing  for  the 
guilty,  or,  in  default  of  the  guilty,  for  their  innocent  class- 
mates, who  might  have  been  sleeping  in  their  beds,  or 
mewed  in  their  rooms  over  their  books,  when  the  prowl- 
.ng  vandals  had  done  their  work. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  freshmen. 

•'  Terrible  row  last  night,"  answered  the  knowing. 

"Where?" 

"  Oh  !  fight  with  policemen,  after  the  Institute-meeting. 


200  HAMMERSMITH: 

Fountain  in  Mr.  Bradstreet's  grounds  broken  to  pieces. 
Sophomores  on  an  awful  tear !  " 

And  before  long  the  vandalism  was  a  fact  known  to 
everybod3T  within  the  college-walls,  where  it  was  tossed 
about  from  mouth  to  mouth,  from  dowdy  bedmaker  to 
bedmaker,  from  boot-polishing  skip  to  spry  letter-carrier, 
until  you  would  have  supposed  that  all  the  Goths  and  Huns 
of  barbarism  had  descended  upon  Cambridge  during  the 
night,  and  held  high  junket  within  its  quiet  borders. 

The  "  Institute  of  1770,"  of  which  Albemarle  was  now 
president,  had  adjourned  at  the  usual  hour  the  night  be- 
fore, and  crossed  the  street  for  the  time-honored  songs 
under  the  shadow  of  the  church  opposite.  Merryweather, 
trombonist  of  the  Pierians,  was  in  the  midst  of  a  song, 
—  "  Dear  Evelina,"  as  harmless  a  ditty  as  ever  the  old 
walls  had  listened  to.  The  surrounding  crowd  was  sur- 
ging out  on  the  rising  crescendo  of  the  chorus,  — 

"  Dear  Evelina,  sweet  Evelina, 
My  love  for  tliee  sliall  never,  never  die! "  — 

how  it  has  echoed  along  the  New-England  coast  in  days 
gone  by !  —  when  a  voice  from  the  corner  of  Church  Street 
broke  in  as  an  unwelcome  finale,  — 

"  Come,  young  gentlemen,  we've  had  enough  of  this ! 
Move  off  to  j'our  rooms  ! ' ' 

"What's  up,  Simpson?  We're  doing  no  harm,"  an- 
swered Frcemantle ;  and  the  crowd  turned,  to  find  some 
half-dozen  policemen  sauntering  towards  them. 

"Can't 'help  it.  There's  too  much  racket.  We've 
got  our  orders  to  stop  it." 

"But  the  Institute  has  always  sung  here  in  this  way." 
*"  There's  no  use  of  making  any  words  about  it.     I  tell 
you  you've  got  to  quit  this  howling.     Go  over  and  sing  in 
the  yard  if  you  wish." 

"But  we  don't  wish.     And,  by  Jove  !  we  mean  to  sing 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  201 

here ;  and  JTOU  can  go  to  thunder ! ' '  shouted  some  rash 
fellow. 

"  What's  that?  You  just  try  it  on,  that's  all !  "  And 
there  was  great  grumbling  and  murmuring,  and  much  con- 
sultation among  the  men,  some  of  whom  were  for  openly 
defying  the  authorities,  and  maintaining  the  hallowed  cus- 
tom vi  et  armis. 

The  policemen  had,  apparently  without  intent,  put 
themselves  around  the  crowd,  however ;  and  the  milder 
counsels  prevailed.  The  men  started  across  towards  the 
quadrangle,  the  less  turbulent  in  front,  and  the  obstinate 
and  pugnacious,  like  Penhallow,  Pincknej^,  Hammersmith, 
Freemantle,  Goldie,  and  others,  in  the  rear.  They  started 
for  the  quadrangle ;  but,  as  the}7  went,  the  impulse  was 
irresistible,  and  the  whole  throng  broke  out  in  a  vicious 
chorus,  at  first  low,  then  swelling  to  a  defiant  loudness,  — 

"  I  met  three  p'licemen  on  the  strand, 
Luddy  —  fuddy  —  whack —  ful — ludy  —  I  —  oh ! " 

and  more  couplets  equally  edifying. 

It  was  a  chorus  that  had  often  been  shouted  in  defiance 
at  pursuing  officers  of  the  town  ;  a  species  of  "  $a  ira  " 
that  was  accepted  as  the  symbol  of  revolution  both  by 
students  who  sang,  and  policemen  who  felt  themselves  in- 
sulted by  its  well-known  jerky  movement. 

The  officers  made  a  dash,  seized  two  or  three  of  the 
laggards,  and  were  carrying  them  off,  when  the  ay,  "  Res- 
rnc,  rescue !  "  was  raised ;  and,  almost  to  a  man,  the 
sophomores  turned,  and  engaged  the  officers.  Penhallow 
and  Hammersmith  had  been  rescued,  and  the  crowd  were 
laboring  for  Freemantle,  when  a  fire-compan}"  came  lum- 
bering down  from  North  Cambridge,  directly  in  the  track 
\.f  the  scrimmage,  and  joined  forces  with  the  policemen. 

Xo  love  had  been  lost  between  the  students  and  the 
,  Cumbridge  Fire  Brigade  from  time  immemorial. 


202  HAMMERSMITH : 

the  hostility  had  originated,  history  does  not  relate 
Whether  it  sprang  from  a  professional  contempt  of  the 
earl}'  enginc-compan}T,  made  up  among  the  students  aftci 
the  first  burning  of  Harvard  Hall,  or  from  a  plebeian  envy 
of  the  fancy  dresses  and  dilettante  organization  of  the 
later  compairy  of  undergraduates,  with  their  rendezvous 
at  Hollis  Pump,  their  stated  parades,  and  (most  envied 
perquisite  of  all !)  their  substantial  suppers  after  a  fire  in 
Cambridge  or  Boston  which  the}-  had  honored  by  extin- 
guishing, we  cannot  decide ;  but  certain  it  is,  that,  in 
Hammersmith's  day,  the  bitterest  feeling  existed  between 
the  knights  of  the  hose  and  the  young  'Varsity  men  ;  nay, 
more  than  this.  For  because,  forsooth,  the  tired  scho- 
lastic head  would  fain  protrude  itself  from  the  college- 
windows,  and  bellow,  "Heads  out,  heads  out!"  when 
the  fire-bells  began  to  clang ;  and  because  students 
would  now  and  then  delight  to  stretch  their  legs,  cramped 
and  grown  weary  from  much  worship  before  their  lexi- 
cons and  domestic  gods,  running  patronizingly  alongside 
the  professionals  as  they  struggled  with  "  the  machine," 
vincouraging  them  with  friendly  chaff  the  while,  —  the 
rumor  grew  that  the  students  themselves  were  in  the 
habit  of  setting  fires  in  remote  spots  for  merest  sport, 
and  for  enjojinent  of  the  firemen's  drudger}r.  How  such 
a  rumor,  growing  by  what  it  fed  on,  came  to  add  fuel 
to  the  smah1  village  war  may  be  imagined.  A  mere  spark 
w  as  enough  to  set  it  in  a  blaze  ;  and  an  opportunity  like 
the  present,  for  giving  battle  to  their  natural  foes  under 
the  protection  of  the  guardians  of  municipal  order,  was 
looked  upon  by  the  firemen  as  providential. 

They  deserted  their  engine,  joined  the  officers  ;  and  for 
a  few  moments  there  was  as  lively  a  scrimmage  as  had 
ever  occurred  between  the  old-time  enemies. 

Hammersmith  was  in  the  thick  of  the  fight ;  no  such 
mean  antagonist  now,  as  when  he  saw  his  first  stars  oc 


HIS  HAKVAKD  DAYS.  203 

the  Delta,  in  the  verdant  days  so  long  past,  but  stubborn, 
determined,  powerful,  and  an  excellent  boxer.  Again 
and  again  a  man  was  caught,  and  hurried  off  towards  the 
neighbc  ring  lock-up ;  and  again  and  again  there  was  a 
gallant  rush  and  a  rescue.  It  lasted  but  a  few  moments, 
however;  and,  as  it  is  only  a  prelude  to  the  vandalism 
referred  to  in  the  faculty-bulletin,  this  struggle  does  not 
call  for  minute  description.  At  its  end  the  sophomores 
had  lost  three  or  four  men,  Freemantle  among  them,  who 
were  carried  off,  and  safely  jugged,  being  liberated  on  the 
next  day,  with  inconsiderable  fines  and  a  judicial  benedic- 
tion. The  rest  of  the  men  retreated  within  the  quadran- 
gle, where  the}'  stood,  breathing  defiance,  and  daring  their 
opponents  to  enter  its  sacred  limits. 

Quiet  sleep,  even  the  contemplative  pipe  and  mild  gos- 
sip, with  comparisons  of  deeds  of  prowess,  were  tame 
affairs,  however,  after  such  an  exciting  stir  of  the  blood  ; 
and  the  last  shout  of  vengeance  had  hardly  been  hurled 
after  the  retiring  firemen,  when  a  party  sallied  out  of  the 
quadrangle,  and  made  their  way  to  the  western  end  of 
town. 

We  need  hardly  follow  them  on  their  raid.  But  if  we 
could  have  been  at  hand  the  following  morning,  and  seen 
the  consternation  of  early-rising  burghers,  when  they 
came  out  to  sniff  the  fresh  morning  air  of  June  and  saw 
the  altered  face  of  Nature  about  their  premises,  we  should 
have  had  a  rare  sight. 

"  Dammy,  what's  this?  "  said  old  Mr.  Boreman,  look- 
ing out  of  his  front-door,  and  advancing  to  the  street. 
A  neat  little  stone  wall  surrounded  his  place,  through 
which  a  stout,  low  gate,  sanded  to  stone-color,  admitted 
to  his  ample  grounds.  He  reaches  the  gate  ;  and  in  place 
>f  his  solid,  iron-strengthened  wicket,  with  silver-plated 
k  B.  Boremau  "  ornamenting  its  front,  there  is  a  weather- 
stained,  unpainted  board  affair  towering  high  above  bis 


204  HAMMERSMITH : 

wall,  against  which  it  leans.  lie  kicks  it  over  with  a  ma<l 
burgher's  kick ;  and,  with  sundry  strong  expressions  of 
disgust,  goes  in  to  take  a  sorry  breakfast  with  Madam 
Borcman  and  the  Misses  Boreman,  who  are  treated  to  a 
homily  on  the  sinfulne«s  and  license  of  student-life,  and 
the  awful  inefficu  ncy  of  the  Cambridge  police. 

Boreman's  own  gate  has  been  carried  a  half-mile,  and 
propped  up  against  an  ungated  entrance  to  a  pasture, 
where  the  itinerant  milkman,  going  his  rounds,  grins  at 
its  misplaced  smartness,  and  winks  at  "  B.  Boreman," 
shining  in  the  morning  sun.  Other  gates  are  carried  from 
street  to  street,  and  exchanged  most  unmatchedl}' :  they 
are  suspended  from  trees ;  they  are  tossed  into  flower- 
beds ;  they  are  hung  upon  gas-posts.  Gas-lamps,  too,  are 
made  to  suffer,  although  the  vandal  knows  that  noisy  de- 
struction is  two-edged,  and  may  cut  back  upon  himself; 
so  that  only  here  and  there,  in  outlying  streets,  are  the 
glasses  riddled,  and  the  tops  of  the  posts  removed. 

Street-signs,  too,  are  purloined:  "  Appleton  Street" 
is  transferred  to  "  Appian  Way  ;  "  "  Cambridge  Street," 
to  ' '  Fayerweather  Street ; ' '  and  many  are  carried  off  to 
grace  the  rooms  of  the  students, — where  "  Quincy 
Street"  may  be  seen  pointing  to  a  coal-closet,  and 
"  Craigie  Street  "  leading  up  a  fireplace,  along  with  vari- 
ous horse-car  emblems ;  an  arrangement  somewhat  con- 
fusing to  one  topographical^  inclined. 

This  might  all  have  been  passed  over,  and  the  curious 
spectacle  of  anxious  townsmen  employing  a  half  Saturday 
in  hunting  their  lost  wickets,  cutting  them  down  from 
lamp-posts,  and  transporting  them  home  on  their  shoul- 
ders or  in  carts,  might  have  been  regarded  as  rather 
laughable  than  serious,  if  there  had  not  been  a  greater 
excess. 

But  when  Mr.  Augustus  Bradstreet  drove  down  to  the 
president's  house  in  his  rattling  chaise,  even  before 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  205 

prayer  ,  —  surprising  the  worthy  Dumm-.r  in  act  of  exe- 
cuti'g  his  matin  shave,  —  and  with  much  jingling  of  pon- 
derous watch-seals,  and  much  violent  language,  announced 
the  destruction  of  his  costly  fountain,  —  a  marble  Triton 
with  impossible  convolutions  of  tail,  which  had  been  wan- 
tonly knocked  to  pieces,  —  the  matter  became  too  serious 
to  be  passed  over  lightly. 

"Yes,  sir;  and  I  shall  have  a  judicial  investigation 
instituted,  and  an  example  made  of  your  3'oung  scape- 
graces if  I  can  catch  them !  It's  a  shame,  sir,  a  disgrace, 
and  I  think  it  is  time  that  this  vandalism  should  stop ! 
Five  hundred  dollars  would  not  have  bought  that  fountain, 
BIT  !  It  was  a  copy,  sir,  a  valuable  copy,  of  the  antique, 
by  Count  Whacko  Chisello  of  Florence,  second  cousin  of 
Victor  Emmanuel,  and  an  Eyetalian  of  extraordinary 
genius." 

"  "Well,  well,  Mr.  Bradstreet,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to 
co-operate  with  }*ou  in  any  reasonable  measures  you  may 
care  to  institute.  But  you  must  appreciate  how  powerless 
I  am  to  prevent  such  proceedings,  anxious  though  I  may 
be,  and  equally  anxious  to  see  the  actors  properly  pun- 
ished. Plato  was  right  when  he  said  that  boys  were  the 
most  ferocious  of  animals,"  concluded  the  learned  Dum- 
mer ;  and,  embodj-ing  the  indignant  burgher's  word  "  van- 
dalism "  in  the  notice  which  we  have  seen,  he  despatched 
it  by  his  man  for  the  secretrfy's  signature,  and  it  was 
posted  while  prayers  were  in  progress. 

This  faculty-bull  hung  up  on  the  bulletin-boards  worked 
no  exception  to  its  many  predecessors.  Men  would  be 
drawn  and  quartered  before  they  would  announce  them- 
selves as  the  culprits  pointed  at.  They  would  suffer  the 
rack  and  the  thumb-screw  rather  than  carry  tales  of  their 
classmates.  And,  to  say  truta,  the  men  who  held  the 
secret  of  the  vandalism  and  the  names  of  the  party  were 
verjr  few  in  number.  And  the  decimation  threatened  might 


206  HAMMERSMITH : 

have  proceeded,  and  the  actual  offenders  never  have  been 
known,  if  affairs  had  not  taken  an  entirely  unexpected 
turn. 

Sunday  and  a  large  part  of  Monday  had  passed.  No 
new  developments  under  the  faculty-order.  Men  were 
debating  among  themselves  if  the  full  letter  of  the  order 
would  be  observed,  and  speculating  on  the  chances  of 
being  among  the  unfortunate  victims.  Ten  into  ninety- 
nine,  nine  and  nine-tenths  times  —  every  man  performed 
the  simple  division,  and  knew  his  chance  in  the  letter}-. 
Much  questioning  failed  to  bring  out  more  than  vaguest 
conjectures  as  to  the  names  of  the  men  at  fault.  Stories 
were  told  of  the  horrible  fate  that  had  overtaken  tattlers 
and  tale-bearers  in  earlier,  more  ferocious  days ;  and,  if 
anybody  had  an  itching  desire  to  hand  a  name  to  the 
faculty,  he  trembled  at  the  thought,  and  quickly  subdued 
it. 

"Word  spread,  about  mid-afternoon  of  Monday,  that 
Goldie  and  Hammersmith  had  been  summoned  to  the 
faculty-meeting  of  that  evening.  It  could  hardly  be 
credited :  their  names  had  been  seldom  associated  with 
the  marauding  party  in  the  wildest  guessing.  The  presi- 
dent's freshman  was  captured  and  -pumped.  Yes,  he  had 
carried  summonses  to  both  Hammersmith  and  Goldie  this 
very  afternoon.  What  for  ?  Of  course  he  did  not  know, 
The  men  themselves  were  interviewed.  They  were  sum- 
moned most  assured!}*:  they  produced  the  mj-sterious 
little  strips  of  paper  which  had  been  handed  them ;  but 
they  were  as  ignorant  of  the  reason  as  the  president's 
young  freshman  himself. 

"  They  look  mighty  innocent,"  said  Ladbroke.  "But 
by  Jove !  Hammersmith  has  a  confounded  mysterious  air, 
as  though  he  knew  more  than  he  cared  to  tell."  And  Lad- 
broke  left  a  group  on  Stoughton  steps,  pleasing  himself 
<vith  a  secret  hope  that  Hammersmith,  at  least,  might  be 
about  to  meet  what  he  considered  his  deserts. 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  207 

About  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  there  was  a  furious 
rapping  at  the  door  of  Professor  Darby's  house,  —  a  mile 
or  more  from  the  college-buildings.  The  maid  appeared  in 
some  trepidation,  and,  seeing  Goldie,  admitted  him  into 
the  hall. 

"Is  Miss  Ellen  in?"  asked  he,  panting  with  excite- 
ment from  running. 

"Yes,  sir,  she  is,"  answered  the  maid,  who  assumed  a 
very  quizzical  expression,  as  she  added;  "but  she  has 
told  me,  when  you  call,  that  you  shall  say  what  news  yon 
have  brought,  sir." 

"What  news!"  said  Goldie.  "Oh,  that's  all  right! 
Tell  her  I  have  some  news.  Hurry,  please."  And  Ellen 
presently  came  running  down  the  stairs. 

"Well?"  said  she  stopping  half  way  down,  with  her 
hand  on  the  rail.  "  Are  you  serious  to-night,  George?  or 
have  you  made  your  way  in  under  false  pretences  ? ' ' 

"No,  no,  Ellen:  I'm  serious  enough  to-night,  in  all 
conscience'  sake !  Come  into  the  library.  Anybody 
here?" 

"  No :  father  has  not  come  from  faculty-meeting  yet 
Mother  has  just  gone  to  her  room.     WhjT,  George,  what's 
the  matter?  "  she  said,  as  Goldie  sank  into  a  chair,  with  a 
great  groan. 

"  Ellen,  I  suppose  a  girl  doesn't  know  what  it  is  to  be 
tracked,  and  deceived,  and  lied  about,  and  slandered, 
does  she?" 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  " 

"And  to  want  sympatli3T,  and  feel  that  the  one  person 
in  all  the  world  that  can  give  .t  is  denjing  it  to  you,  and 
keeping  aloof?  " 

"  Now  you're  talking  about  Mr.  Hammersmith,  aren't 
you?" 

•;  How  can  you  tell !  Yes,  I  am.  Ellen,  he  is  the  most 
magnificent,  great-hearted  fellow  in  the  world !  He  has 


208  HAMMEESMITH : 

had  a  perfect  network  of  villany  and  cunning  surround- 
ing him  for  months  now  ;  and  this  tune  they  have  tried  to 
rope  me  in!  " 

"  What  can  it  all  be,  George?     Can  you  tell  me?  " 

"Of  course  I  can,  my  dear  Ellen.  You  will  be  glad, 
perhaps,  to  have  me  tell  you,  in  the  first  place,  that  you 
were  entirely  right  about  Hammersmith  (you  are  always 
right,  somehow  or  other) ,  and  that  he  and  I  are  going  to 
be  just  as  fast  friends  as  ever  again  ;  are  already  on  the 
way  to  it,  I  am  happy  to  say." 

"I  am  so  glad!  But  how  did  it  all  come  about?  I 
knew  you  would  do  as  I  wished  about  it." 

"  You  just  wait.  Don't  be  so  sure  of  it !  I  might  not 
have  screwed  up  my  courage,  with  all  my  trying,  if  things 
had  not  fallen  out  oddly  enough.  I  tried  to  go  up  boldly 
to  him,  or  speak  to  him  at  the  river,  several  times :  but  I 
couldn't  do  it ;  it  seemed  to  stick  in  my  throat,  and  I  felt 
very  foolish  about  it  at  the  same  time.  Then  that  scrape 
of  Friday  night  came  on.  You've  heard  of  it,  of  course, 
since  you  hear  every  thing,  you  little  rogue?  " 

"  Now,  don't  revive  that  silly  expression,  please  !  Yes, 
I've  heard  of  it ;  but  that  is  all.  You  don't  mean  that  3-011 
were  in  that,  George?  or  Mr.  Hammersmith?  " 

"No,  not  exactly.  But  don't  be  in  a  hurry!  That 
scrape  came  on ;  and  everybody  was  excited,  and  had 
nothing  else  to  talk  about ;  and  then  Tom  went  home  with 
Penhallow  for  Sunday,  and  to-day  I  have  been  so  busy, 
and  we  didn't  go  out  in  the  boat,  as  they're  altering;  the 
outriggers,  and"  — 

"Oh,  you  procrastinating  man!  I  verity  believe  you 
hr.ve  not  spoken  to  him  at  all !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  have.  Sit  down.  I  thought  you  would 
wish  to  hear  it  all :  so  I  was  beginning  at  the  beginning. 
Well,  you  know  the  faculty  issued  an  order  about  Friday 
night.  Old  Bradstreet  came  down,  and  made  a  fearful 


HIS   HABVAKD   DAYS.  209 

touse  about  his  old  two-penny  fountain,  that  the  fellows 
broke  up,  —  not  that  I  think  it  was  a  good  thing  to  do,  — 
and  they  had  to  take  notice  of  it ;  so  threatened  to  deci- 
mate the  class,  if  the  perpetrators  of  the  vandalism,  as 
they  called  it,  were  not  made  known." 

"  What  do  3'ou  mean  by  decimating?  " 

"  Why,  taking  out  every  tenth  man,  and  suspending  him, 
or  expelh'ng  him." 

"No,  really?" 

"Yes,  indeed!  No  joke,  I  assure  you!  Of  course, 
nobody  came  forward  to  announce  himself :  he  would  be  a 
•precious  fool  if  he  did !  And  this  afternoon  Hammer- 
smith and  I  were  summoned  to  the  faculty.' 

"Why,  George!  " 

"  I  didn't  suppose  it  could  possibly  refer  to  the  Brad- 
street  affair ;  for  I  went  to  my  rooms  directly  after  the 
scrimmage  with  the  firemen,  —  I  suppose  you've  heard  of 
that  too?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  ;  and  I  heard  that  you  were  as  wicked  as 
yoa  could  be,  and  did  more  fighting  than  anybody  else, 
and  I'm  ashamed  of  you !  " 

"Oh,  no,  j'ou're  not!  You  were  mighty  glad  to  hear 
it,  /  know !  Well,  I  had  gone  to  my  rooms,  as  I  say, 
and  I  was  quite  sure  Hammersmith  had  done  the  same, 
though  I  could  not  have  sworn  to  it ;  and  consequently  I 
was  a  good  deal  surprised  at  our  being  summoned.  Wo 
met  in  the  anteroom  of  the  faculty ;  and  although  there 
were  a  couple  of  freshmen  waiting  before  us,  in  fear  and 
trembling,  old  Wizzen  opened  the  door,  and  ushered  us  in. 
Dummer  sat  at  the  head  of  the  long  table,  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  old  pods  were  ranged  about  it." 

"Why,  George,  how  you  do  talk  about  them!  "  said 
Miss  Ellen. 

"  Your  father  was  there,  and  old  Brimblecom,  and 
Boue,  and  the  rest ;  and  they  seemed  actually  tickled  to 


210  HAMMERSMITH : 

see  us  brought  in,  and  stand  twiddling  our  hats.  I  don't 
mean  that  your  father  did,  or  Briinblecom,  but  most  of 
them  :  in  fact,  uncle  looked  a  good  deal  dashed  to  see  us, 
as  I  think  he  had  no  idea  we  were  summoned. 

"  Well,  old  Dummer  was  tapping  the  table  with  a  ruler, 
as  we  came  up  near  him,  and  grinned  feebly,  as  he  said, 
'  Mr.  Goldie,  Mr.  Hammersmith,'  and  we  bowed.  He 
hemmed  a  little,  and  went  on,  looking  about  the  table. 

"  '  We  have  received  information,  Mr.  Goldie,  that  you 
were  concerned  in  the  destruction  of  property  in  Cam- 
bridge last  Friday  evening,  and  particularly  in  the  matter 
of  Mr.  Bradstreet's  fountain.  We  have  thought  it  best  to' 
summon  you,  and  inquire  personally  of  }'ou  about  your 
participation  in  the  affair,  before  ordering  any  punishment 
for  the  offence  :  this  as  a  justice  to  yourself,  a  mere  matter 
of  form  I  may  say,  —  a  mere  matter  of  form.  What  have 
you  to  say  in  extenuation  of  the  offence  ?  ' 

"  '  I  have  only  this  to  say,  sir,  that  your  information  is 
entirely  incorrect.  I  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  in  the 
matter ;  went  to  my  rooms  after  the  Institute  meeting,  and 
—  and  a  little  disturbance  with  the  police,'  said  I. 

"  'Yes,  we  have  heard  of  that  too,'  he  said,  smiling 
grimty  about  the  table.  '  But  I  think  we  can  pass  over 
that,  gentlemen.  The  young  men  were  interrupted  in 
their  singing,  I  have  been  informed.' 

"  The  room  murmured  assent. 

"  '  Then  you  say,  Mr.  Goldie,^  he  went  on,  '  that  3-011 
had  nothing  to  do  with  this  affair  ? ' 

"  '  I  do  sir,'  said  I. 

"  '  That  you  know  nothing  whatever  of  it,  — the  names 
of  the  party,  and  so  on  ?  ' 

"  '  I  do  sir.  I  know  nothing  whatever  of  the  affair, 
beyond  the  vague  rumors  that  have  been  flying  about.' 

"  '  Well,  gentlemen,  I  do  not  know  that  we  have  anj 
thing  more  to  ask  Mr.  Goldie.  Our  information  is  o' 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  211 

such  an  indefinite  nature,  that  we  give  no  especial  cre- 
dence to  it ;  and  the  }*onng  gentleman's  word  is  enough 
to  exonerate  him.  — That  will  do,  Mr.  Goldie.  —  Mr.  Ham- 
mersmith,' he  said,  turning  towards  Tom.  And  Tom 
stepped  forward,  looking  as  handsome  as  a  picture,  but  as 
mad  as  a  hornet.  I  saw  that  he  was  boiling  over  with 
rage  ;  but  I  was  not  prepared  for  his  cool  manner. 

"  'How  is  it  with  you,  Mr.  Hammersmith?  '  asked  the 
president.  '  Were  you  at  all  implicated  in  the  affair  ? ' 

"  '  I  will  answer,  sir,  when  I  am  told  the  character  of 
the  information  on  which  I  am  summoned,'  said  Tom, 
without  the  slightest  tremor  in  his  words. 

"'It  —  it  —  hardly  signifies,'  said  old  Dummer:  'we 
do  not  wish  further  to  complicate  the  matter.  A  simple 
"  Yes  "  or  "  Xo  "  will  be  satisfactory. — Eh,  gentlemen?' 

"  '  I  will  be  happy  to  accommodate  you,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  to  know  the  name  of  the  man  who  has  brought 
you  the  story  of  my  complicity  in  the  affair,'  said  Tom. 
'  I  do  not  think  being  stabbed  in  the  back,  in  this  way, 
is  a  very  noble  death  ! '  And  I  never  saw  a  fellow's  eyes 
flash  as  Tom's  did,  though  he  was  as  cool  as  you  are  now, 
in  manner." 

"  Why,  George,  you  do  not  mean  that  he  was  really  in 
the  disgraceful  affair?  "  asked  Miss  Darby. 

"  Not  at  aU,  not  at  all !  "  said  Goldie. 

"  He  was  simply  cut  to  the  quick,  and  stubborn,  as  he 
always  is  when  he's  insulted.  You  can't  imagine  how  his 
last  words  affected  the  faculty !  There  was  a  great  hem- 
ming and  hawing.  Brimblecom  took  off  his  spectacles 
and  wiped  them ;  old  Dummer  glared  horribly  at  the  ceil- 
ing ;  and  though  I  would  not  dare  breathe  it  to  anybody 
else,  Ellen,  I  could  take  m}-  oath  that  the  slightest  per- 
ceptible  wink  appeared  in  your  father's  left  eye  as  he 
looked  up,  and  met  Tom's  gaze.  I  was  watching  him  at 
the  lime,  and  I  am  sure  the  dear  oW  fellow  was  in> 


212  HAMMERSMITH : 

mensely  tickled  at  Tom's  pluck.  Tom  stood,  meanwhile, 
as  quiet  as  a  statue,  looking  about  the  room. 

"  '  Hem,  these  words —  Mr.  Hammersmith,  it  would 
avail  you  nothing  to  hear  the  nature  of  our  information,' 
said  Dummer.  — '  And  I  think  you  agree  with  me,  gen- 
tlemen, when  I  say  we  have  no  wish  to  do  Mr.  Ham- 
mersmith an  injustice.  —  A  simple  denial  will  be  entirely 
satisfactory:  otherwise  we  shall  be  obliged  to  proceed 
on  a  presumption  of  your  guilt.' 

"  '  I  regret,  sir,  that  I  cannot  comply  with  your  wishes. 
I  decline  to  say  a  word  if  I  am  not  permitted  to  know  the 
grounds  of  the  charge  preferred  against  me.'  And  Tom 
tossed  his  head  in  the  way  that  you  must  have  seen,  — no? 
—  and  looked  very  defiant. 

"  '  "Well,  well,  gentlemen.  Yes,  Mr.  Hammersmith, 
will  you  be  pleased  to  retire  to  the  next  room,  and  Mr. 
Goldie? '  And  we  stepped  out.  A  hubbub,  and  confused 
argument,  and  moving  of  papers,  followed  ;  and  in  a  few 
moments  we  were  called  back. 

"  '  We  arrive  at  the  conclusion  with  regret,  Mr.  Ham- 
mersmith ;  but  your  manner  will  permit  no  other  course,' 
said  the  president.  '  You  still  persist  in  refusing  to  ex- 
plain your  connection  with  this  affair  ?  ' 

"  '  I  do,  sir,  most  politely,  but  most  emphatically.' 

"  '  We  are  compelled,  then,  to  announce  to  you  that 
you  are  suspended  for  six  mouths.  You  will  be  expected 
to  pass  this  period  in  study ;  and  you  will  to-morrow  be 
informed  with  whom.' 

"  '  Thank  you,  sir :  is  that  all?  '  asked  Tom.  Dunimer 
bowed  his  head,  looking  daggers  at  Tom,  and  we  left." 

"  Is  he  really  suspended,  George?  Is  it  true?  "  asked 
Miss  Darby,  showing  move  interest  than  was  discreet. 

"  True  as  gospel,  I'm  soriy  to  say,"  said  Goldie,  "  un- 
less your  father,  or  somebody,  can  get  it  altered.  But  gra- 
cious !  Hammersmith  is  in  such  a  rage  now,  that  I  doubt 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  213 

whether  he  would  stay  in  Cambridge,  if  they  would  let 
him." 

' '  Poor  fellow  !  What  did  3-011  say  to  him  ?  ' '  asked 
Ellen. 

"  Oh  !  I  went  right  up  to  his  room  with  him  ;  and  we 
had  such  a  half-hour's  talk  as  I  have  never  had  with  a 
man  in  my  life,  Ellen,  I  can  tell  you.  lie  is  a  stunning 
fellow,  by  Jove!  " 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  he  said?  " 

"  Wli3',  of  course  he  was  awfully  cut  up,  when  he  saw 
what  he  had  really  done,  and  appreciated  it  was  ah1  his 
own  fault,  and  might  have  been  avoided.  But  I  knew  his 
temper  well  enough  not  to  make  it  worse  by  telling  him 
that  he  had  made  a  mistake ;  and,  'pon  my  word,  I  was 
so  delighted  with  his  pluck,  that  I  could  hardly  make  up 
my  mind  to  call  it  a  mistake." 

"  But  it  was,  George,  it  was.  I  am  so  sorry  he  spoke 
out  so!  " 

"  "Well,  perhaps  it  was.  But  don't  let  us  cry  over  spilled 
milk.  The  thing  to  do  is  to  try  to  save  the  poor  fellow." 

"  Certainly  we  must."  And  the  brave  girl  stood  up  as 
though  she  were  going  at  once  to  do  it.  "  But  what  did 
he  say,  George?  " 

"I  can't  tell  3-011  all  he  said,  Nell :  I've  no  right 
to  tell  3'ou  all.  Of  course  he  raged  round,  and  said  he 
would  shoot  the  man  who  had  told  such  a  lie  about  him  ; 
for  it  was  a  lie,  —  a  foul,  slanderous  lie,  as  he  said.  He 
was  in  his  rooms  all  the  time  that  night,  just  as  I  was  ;  and 
he  asked  me  who  I  thought  it  was,  and  I  could  not  give 
the  faintest  guess,  of  course  ;  and  then  he  seemed  to  think 
of  something.  And  he  said  a  good  many  pleasant  things 
to  me,  about  how  I  had  given  him  good  adA'ice  once, 
which  it  would  have  been  much  better  for  him  to  have 
followed,  and  what  an  egregious  fool  he  had  been,  and  so 
on,  and  so  on.  That  gave  me  a  good  chance,  Ellen,  which 


214  HAMMERSMITH: 

was  all  I  was  waiting  for  ;  and  I  assured  him  how  sorry  I 
had  been  for  him,  and  how  I  had  wished  to  speak  to  him, 
and  cheer  him  up,  but  had  supposed  he  did  not  care  for 
it,  and  might  resent  it.  And  he  said  it  was  the  very 
thing  above  all  others  that  he  wanted, — my  friendship 
and  sympathy ;  that  he  had  been  more  cut  up  than  by 
any  thing  else,  because  I  held  off  from  him  (almost  your 
very  words,  dear  Ellen),  and  so  on.  You  can  be  sure  I 
made  it  all  right,  —  told  him  that  it  had  been  my  fault  all 
along,  and  that  I  ought  not  to  have  been  so  obstinate, 
but  should  have  gone  to  him,  and  tried  to  help  him.  But 
he  would  not  allow  me  to  put  it  in  that  way,  and  declared 
that  it  was  all  his  own  fault ;  that  he  had  given  me  cause 
for  thinking  harshly  of  him,  and  that,  if  he  had  not  been 
such  a  proud  fool,  (think  of  Hammersmith  calling  himself 
a  proud  fool !  )  he  would  have  come  to  me  long  ago,  and 
apologized  for  his  hasty  words  in  freshman  year,  and  — • 
well,  Ellen,  he  behaved  like  a  brick,  and  I  felt  like  a 
fool  to  have  treated  him  so ;  for  it  might  all  have  been 
avoided  just  as  well  as  not.  And  now  I  see  that  your 
advice  was  entirely  correct,  and  that  I  have  misunder- 
stood the  fellow  from  the  very  start." 

"  I'm  very,  very  glad,  George,  that  it  has  all  turned  out 
so  well,  if  we  can  only  do  something  to  save  him.  Who 
can  have  been  so  wicked  as  to  teU  such  an  awful  lie  about 
him,  and  about  you  too?  " 

"We  can't  make  out.  That's  the  very  thing  that 
puzzles  Hammersmith  in  the  whole  matter.  It  is  bad 
enough  taking  care  of  the  scrapes  that  a  fellow  really  gets 
involved  in,  as  Tom  said,  without  having  all  the  sins  of 
the  college  laid  at  your  door  ;  and  Hammersmith's  excite- 
ment is  not  so  much  at  the  idea  of  being  sent  away 
(though  he  feels  that  keenly  enough) ,  but  at  the  idea  of 
anybody  being  mean  enough  to  slander  him  so  disgrace- 
fully. Of  course,  if  Tom  had  not  been  so  high-strung,  he 


HIB  HARVAKD  DAYS.  215 

might  have  avoided  suspension  by  simply  denying  his  con- 
nection with  the  fountain  matter,  as  I  did.  I  had  no  idea 
of  flying  out  at  the  charge  :  it  came  so  suddenty,  in  fact, 
that  I  had  no  time  to  reflect  on  it ;  and  I  was  glad  enough 
to  be  able  to  get  off  by  a  mere  denial.  But  Tom  had  a 
little  time  to  think  on  it,  you  see,  —  while  they  were  ques- 
tioning me,  —  and  being  the  impetuous,  open-hearted  fellow 
that  he  is,  he  was  cut  to  the  quick,  I  suppose,  at  the  idoa 
of  being  hauled  up  on  a  dark  charge,  evidently  not  of  a 
substantial  character,  and  stabbed  in  the  back,  as  he  put 
it  to  them.  Gracious  !  you  ought  to  have  seen  old  Wiz- 
zen  start  when  he  plumped  that  phrase  among  them. 
You  would  have  thought  the  old  bird  had  been  stabbed 
himself." 

"  You  have  no  idea  who  started  the  report?  He  might 
be  induced  to  withdraw  it,  and  apologize,"  said  Ellen, 
with  a  simple  knowledge  of  ways  and  means. 

"  Hardly  think  that  would  do  any  good.  You  see, 
Tom's  manner  of  taking  it  is  what  has  used  him  up :  they 
cannot  forgive  his  severe  speech.  And  Tom  cannot  begin 
to  guess  who  could  have  slandered  him  in  this  fashion. 
By  the  way,  I  took  the  liberty  of  asking  him  to  come  up 
here  with  me  just  now  ;  but  he  said  he  could  not  think  of 
it.  He  will  call  to-morrow,  or  before  he  goes  off,  and  say 
good-by,  he  says,  —  the  idea  of  losing  him  just  at  this 
time !  The  crew  will  be  simply  demoralized.  And  I 
shall  feel  that  I  am  partly  to  blame,  for  not  having  stood 
by  him  before,  and  so  kept  him  a  little  more  straight. 
Good  gracious  !  good  gracious !  Tufton,  Tufton  !  Can  it 
be  possible  that  that  fellow  is  pursuing  him  yet  ?  It  never 
occurred  to  me  till  this  moment ;  but  it  is  impossible.  He 
has  been  gone  more  than  a  week  now  ;  and  some  fellows 
£a\v  him  taking  the  cars  for  New  York  in  the  Boston  and 
Worcester  depot.  Hammersmith  told  me  a  great  deal 
'  about  his  relations  with  that  scoundrel,  moreover,  that  1 


216  HAMMEESMITH : 

have  never  known  before ;  and  the  way  the  poor  fellow 
has  suffered  at  his  hands  is  something  frightful ;  but  for 
Heaven's  sake,  Ellen,  never  let  him  know  that  I  have 
hinted  a  word  of  all  this  to  you !  promise  me." 

"Of  course,  I  never  will,  George;  and  I  am  more 
sorry  than  I  can  say  that  it  has  all  ended  in  his  being 
suspended.  He  shall  not  be.  Come,  George,  what  do 
you  propose?"  And  the  fair  cousin,  with  heightened 
color,  and  more  excitement  than  was  common  with  her, 
ran  to  the  door  to  welcome  her  father,  whose  step  she 
heard  at  the  moment. 

The  warm-hearted  professor  burst  in  upon  their  despair 
with  fresh  news  and  kindly  plans ;  and  the  three  fell  to 
talking  of  the  episode  and  of  Hammersmith's  chances, 
and  sat  together  far  into  the  night. 


RTS  HABVAKD  DAYS.  217 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  HAMMERSMITH   RUBICON, 

"B«  bold*,  Be  bolde,  and  everywhere,  Be  bold."—  SPENSEB. 
"  Ignis  aurum  probat,  miseria  fortes  viros."  —  SENECA. 

"TV  /MEANWHILE  the  young  gentleman  in  question, 
-i-V-L  Mr.  Tom,  was  pacing  his  room,  and  indulging  in 
reflections  by  no  means  calculated  to  cheer  his  despond- 
ency. This,  then,  was  the  end  of  all  the  hopes  and 
plans,  the  maternal  anxiety  and  uncle's  beneficence,  for 
his  college-career ;  for  the  idea  of  returning  to  Cambridge 
after  his  period  of  rustication  was  over  did  not  once  enter 
the  indignant  young  fellow's  head :  he  would  never  think 
of  such  a  thing. 

Lope  de  Vega,  jilted  by  a  dark-eyed  senorita,  joined 
the  Armada,  we  are  told,  and  used  up,  as  wadding  for  his 
gun,  the  verses  that  he  had  written  to  his  treacherous 
inamorata.  Tom's  Alma  Mater,  which  he  loved,  and  would 
have  fought  for,  —  though  he  had  done  nothing  extraordi- 
nary as  yet  to  testify  his  devotion,  —  had  spurned  him. 
A  false  tale,  a  slander,  had  been  accepted  by  her ;  he  had 
been  struck  in  the  dark ;  he  would  have  no  more  of  her. 
And  all  his  rosy  dreams  and  longing,  his  high-hearted 
liop^s  and  resolves,  he  now  fashioned  into  sinister  weapons 
aga  nst  his  too  cruel  mother,  dipping  them  in  a  dark  bath 
yf  poisoned  feeh'ng.  How  gravely  foolish  the  reasoning, 
iiow  simply  impulsive  the  spirit ,  of  the  lad,  laying  at  the 
door  of  the  constituted  authorities  the  evil  which  his  own 
impetuous  words  had  brought ! 


218  HAMMERSMITH : 

Men  dropped  in  to  console,  to  inquire,  to  advise.  It 
was  a  cold  comfort  and  a  thin  sympathy  at  best  that  they 
could  bring ;  and  the  sombre  Hammersmith  did  not  seem 
in  a  mood  to  appreciate  or  to  plan.  What  planning  could 
there  be,  when  the  morrow  would  bring  the  ultimatum  of 
(he  Faculty,  and  lie  should  step  forward,  demand  his 
papers,  and  bid  good-by  to  the  college  forever?  Should 
he  write  to  his  mother,  advising  her  of  his  coming?  Oh  ! 
where  was  his  uncle  Gayton?  He  sat  down,  and  wrote  to 
his  mother.  He  tried  to  describe  it  all  in  a  vein  of  pleas- 
antry, as  though  it  were  not  so  terrible  a  thing  after  all. 
But  his  hand  shook :  he  was  telling  her  only  half  the 
truth ;  she  knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  Boggle  affair. 
He  could  not  send  her  such  a  letter :  he  tore  it  up. 

His  chum  Penhallow  spent  the  evening  with  Mm.  He 
was  sympathy  itself.  And  yet  he  was.  deep  in  his  own 
troubles,  much  closer  allied  to  Tom's  than  Hammersmith 
knew  ;  and  he  was  waiting  only  the  developments  of  the 
morning  to  take  as  decisive  action  as  Tom  himself.  How 
we  deceive  ourselves,  and  shake  our  own  chains  for  very 
sport  in  our  misery,  looking  with  envy  on  lighter-hearted 
mortals,  whom  we  picture  free  as  air,  unvisited  by  griefs  ! 
Tom  fairly  begrudged  his  chum  the  careless  case  and 
untroubled  tranquillity  of  his  college-life  ;  while  all  the 
time  Penhallow  was  feeding  on  his  own  bitter  bread,  and 
debating  his  own  sorry  problem.  Should  he  come  forward 
yet?  Would  it  save  Tom  if  he  did?  Was  it  true  that 
Tom's  own  words  had  been  the  cause  of  his  suspension, 
and  that  the  faculty  would  go  no  farther  in  their  investi- 
gation, as  many  men  seemed  to  think?  Penhallow  was 
as  stanch  a  friend  as  Hammersmith  had  ;  but  was  there 
any  thing  to  be  gained  by  opening  his  mouth,  if  Tom  were 
not  to  be  saved  by  the  means  ?  Pen  didn't  know ;  and 
being  no  subtle  moralist,  but  a  youth  remarkably  apt  to 
grow  uncommonly  sleepy  about  eleven  o'clock,  he  turned 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  219 

m  at  that  hour,  and  left  Tom  at  the  table,  a  sheet  of  paper 
before  him,  his  head  leaning  on  his  left  hand. 

Hammersmith  had  packed  a  few  traps  ;  he  had  tried  to 
write  home ;  he  had  tried  still  harder  to  bring  himself  to 
make  an  apology  to  the  faculty,  as  the  ardent  Pinckney 
had  suggested,  less  afraid  than  Goldie  of  Tom's  resenting 
the  very  suggestion:  but  he  could  not  do  it.  What? 
apologize  to  men  who  had  listened  to  a  vile  slander,  sum- 
moning him  to  answer  it  without  telling  him  its  origin  and 
its  author  ?  Get  down  on  his  knees  to  such  men  ?  Never ! 
And  the  blood  of  all  the  Hammersmiths  was  up  ;  and  the 
much-tossed  Tom  put  on  his  hat,  and  went  out  into  the 
still  night. 

He  hardly  knew  what  course  he  took :  he  wandered 
about  without  aim.  He  was  on  fire  when  he  came  out ; 
he  was  breathing  defiance  at  everybody :  but  the  cool  air 
of  midnight,  and  the  calm  stars,  looking  down  on  joy  and 
misery  alike  with  impassive  gaze,  came  to  quiet  his  raging 
mood,  and  lead  Despair  with  gentle  hand  into  a  land  of 
hope  and  quiet  reflection. 

Here  were  the  steps  of  Harvard  Hall,  where  he  had  first 
met  Goldie.  Here  was  the  hall  whence  he  had  rushed  ex- 
ultant, brandishing  his  entrance-papers,  and  falling  into 
the  arms  of  his  classmates  below  stairs.  And  there  was  the 
very  spot  where  his  dear  old  uncle  had  waited  for  him  in 
his  barouche,  drawn  up  outside  the  gate,  and  received  the 
young  freshman  with  hearty  congratulations.  There  was 
the  Delta,  where  his  first  stout  struggle  with  the  sopho- 
mores had  taken  place ;  where  Breese  had  distinguished 
iiimsclf,  and  vaulted  the  fence,  just  here,  as  he  fled  for  his 
rooms.  And  he  stood  on  the  very  spot  where  McGregor 
had  caught  him  up,  and  congratulated  him  on  his  plucky 
stand  against  him  in  the  game.  Goldie 's  old  rooms, 
where  he  had  pla}-ed  such  different  parts ;  the  old  Iloliis 
Pump,  where  he  had  cooled  his  lips  so  many  times,  rush- 


220  HAMMERSMITH : 

ing  in  from  cricket,  or  football,  or  rapid  constitutional, 
just  in  time  foi  recitation  ;  the  Institute,  scene  of  his  early 
initiation  and  first  office-holding ;  all  the  different  land- 
marks ol  his  bright  college-life,  —  must  he  leave  these  in 
disgrace,  and  look  back  upon  them  as  only  the  fragments 
of  a  broken  dream?  The  swaying  foliage  of  the  elms, 
that  have  listened  to  so  manj'  vows  and  prayers,  songs 
and  shouts,  before,  and  dropped  their  flickering  shadows 
on  the  merry  and  the  grave,  the  thoughtful  scholar  and 
the  idle  reveller  ah'ke,  rose  and  fell  with  a  quiet  night- 
whisper  above  young  Tom,  pacing  under  their  arches  for 
the  last  time,  as  he  thought,  poor  fellow  !  The  last  lights 
went  out,  and  he  was  alone  with  the  stars  and  the  night. 
He  thought  of  his  mother  and  his  sweet  young  sister 
Mabel,  and  of  all  the  wild  nights  of  the  past  year ;  and 
he  cursed  himself  for  all  the  wicked  extravagance  and 
folly  which  had  kept  him  from  the  high  courses  on  which 
he  had  started. 

It  was  a  sad,  bitter  fight  that  he  was  fighting  with  him- 
self;  fighting  to  decide  if  he  were  to  gain  that  victory 
which  is  greater  than  the  taking  of  cities,  or  to  slink  off 
in  disgrace,  lowering  his  lance,  and  confessing  defeat ; 
such  a  fight  as  Amadis  de  Gaul  and  Dardan  fought,  stub- 
born, bitter,  shield  to  shield,  and  axe  to  axe,  till  Amadis, 
sore-pressed  and  well-nigh  fainting,  beheld  the  fair  Oriana 
at  her  window,  received  new  strength,  and  conquered.  If 
only  at  the  window  of  Hope  some  fair  Oriana  might  appear 
to  Tom  !  If  only  he  knew  that  while  he  was  struggling 
thus,  and  facing  the  conflict  within  his  own  heart,  there 
was  some  radiant  presence  working  for  him,  about  him, 
around  him,  —  who  shall  sa}*  if  not  within  him  ?  —  inspiring 
hun  to  be  worthy  of  himself !  But  Tom  knew  little  of  the 
sources  of  his  strength  from  within  and  from  without.  He 
had  small  conception  of  the  power  of  sentimental  inspira* 
tion  ;  and  he  knew  nothing  of  a  certain  earnest  little  trip 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  221 

artite  meeting  that  was  just  about  breaking  up,  as  he  went 
over  towards  the  river,  across  Harvard  Square.  He  knew 
only  that  everj'body  seemed  to  be  against  him,  and  that  his 
own  rash  temper  had  wrought  him  nothing  but  harm  from 
his  earliest  college-days, — first  with  Goldie,  afterwards 
with  Ladbroke,  then  with  the  Boggles,  the  disgusting  Bog- 
gles !  and  now  finally  with  the  faculty  itself.  Whom  could 
he  imagine  working  for  him,  even  with  prayers,  aud  with 
what  effect,  in  any  case,  if  his  own  temper  insisted  on  run- 
ning away  with  him,  and  working  his  ruin  ?  No :  it  was  a 
single-handed  fight,  Hammersmith  vs.  Circumstance  ;  and 
I  am  not  sure  that  Tom  was  not" deciding  to  call  it  a  drawn 
battle,  and  retire  from  the  field,  so  hard  the  conditions, 
and  so  relentless  the  malice  of  the  warfare  appeared  to 
him.  But  Oriana  was  coming. 

Tom  did  not  reflect,  indeed,  that  he  was  merely  meeting 
the  ordinary  fate  of  his  race,  merely  drawing  near  that 
university  Rubicon,  where  so  many  Hammersmiths  had 
halted,  and  turned  back,  —  at  the  full  stream  of  sophomore 
life.  Nor  would  the  reflection  have  brought  a  fit  conso- 
lation in  view  of  the  circumstances  of  his  own  suspen- 
sion. There  was  something  comparatively  manly  (in  Mr. 
Tom's  mind  at  least)  in  plunging  Hammersmith-fashion 
into  some  dangerous  adventure,  and  being  sent  away  a 
local  hero.  The  family  displeasure  and  admiring  conster- 
nation of  young  sisters  and  cousins  might  be  endured  in 
a  martyrdom  like  that,  and  Tom  was  sure  that  he  could 
have  carried  off  such  a  dismissal  with  not  unbecoming 
dignity  and  ease.  But  to  be  sent  away  for  nothing,  (what 
youth  will  admit  that  hasty  words  are  any  thing  ?)  to  be 
turned  adrift  with  all  the  disgrace,  and  none  of  the  eclat, 
ivhich  his  ancestor  llanimersmitiis  had  carried  off,  —  that 
was  too  much,  that  was  too  humiliating. 

Thus  reflecting,  thus  torn  with  his  restless  thoughts,  he 
passed,  almost  without  noticing,  his  old  freshman  quar- 


222  HAMMEBSMITH: 

ters  in  the  Brattle  House.  He  turned,  and  went  under  the 
shadow  of  Tufton's  deserted  rooms,  forsaken  by  even 
boozy  Jordan  now,  and  made  his  way  to  the  boat-houses 
by  a  natural  impulsion.  He  crossed  the  narrow  plank 
leading  over  the  marshes :  he  opened  the  houses  with  a 
key  that  he  carried,  and  sat  down  on  the  timbers,  facing 
the  water. 

Here  was  the  scene  of  his  first  considerable  triumphs  in 
sports.  Here  he  had  first  paddled  out  in  freshman  j'ear, 
and  astonished  onlookers  by  his  faultless  stroke.  Up  yon- 
der tackle  he  had  climbed  man}'  a  time,  returning  from  a 
pull  with  a  crew.  At  this  very  door  he  had  issued  to  take 
his  seat  in  the  famous  six  of  his  first  year,  which  had 
quitted  itself  so  well,  and  in  the  'Varsity,  only  a  few  days 
ago  now,  followed  by  the  hopes  and  praise  of  the  college. 

There  was  Tufton's  favorite  lounging-place,  in  that 
corner,  sheltered  from  the  wind.  Tom  hod  seen  him  many 
a  time  standing  there,  lazily  watching  the  crews,  and  mak- 
ing those  investigations  whose  purpose  we  have  now  some- 
what divined, — and  Tom,  too,  alas  !  Ah,  how  he  remem- 
bered Tufton's  very  words  as  he  spoke  admiringly  of  Tom's 
stroke  one  day,  so  long  ago,  and  asked  him  up  for  a  glass 
of  wine  !  And  this  man,  who  had  professed  such  friend- 
ship, who  had  been  at  his  side  for  weeks  and  months,  who 
had  initiated  him  into  ways  and  places  which  now  made 
him  sick  as  he  thought  of  them,  —  this  man  had  turned 
on  him,  and  swindled  him,  and  lied  to  him,  and  made  him 
a  laughing-stock  among  his  friends !  For  this  man's 
friendship  he  had  sacrificed  Goldie  and  Brcesc  and  Albe- 
marle,  and  hosts  of  good  men,  with  whom  his  relations  had 
been  only  lukewarm  in  consequence  of  his  absorption  with 
Tufton.  For  him  he  had  given  hot,  cruel  words  to  Goldie, 
best  of  fellows  !  Through  him,  bah,  the  Boggle  !  The  long 
asinine  foil}-,  the  vulgar  surroundings,  the  double-faced 
actress,  the  soi-disant  father,  the  wretched  promise  to  pay 


HIS   HABVAHD   DAYS.  223 

and  all  the  misery  which  it  had  brought  to  him! — This 
note  !  How  could  he  ever  pay  it  ?  Could  he  ever  pay  it  ? 
Ought  he  to  pay  it  if  he  •  could  ?  Penhallow  was  right : 
Tom  had  started  for  Boston  to  ask  his  lawyers  if  the  law 
could  compel  him  to  discharge  an  obligation  which  his 
honor  told  him  was  not  binding ;  but  Penhallow  did  not 
know  that  he  had  quailed  at  asking  the  humiliating  ques- 
tion, and  having,  possibby,  to  tell  the  whole  story,  by  way 
of  explanation,  and  had  come  back  to  Cambridge  with  his 
doubts  unsettled. 

Later  financial  embarrassments,  a  heavier  note  ap- 
proaching protest,  may  bring  more  distress  and  consterna- 
tion in  their  train,  but  I  doubt  if  they  are  more  harrowing, 
than  the  sudden  dismay  with  which  a  youth  is  over- 
whelmed when  caught  in  a  maze  like  Tom's.  To  be  sus- 
pended in  so  causeless  a  way,  to  leave  behind  a  fair  repu- 
tation scarred  and  broken  with  foil}',  and  seeming  vice  and 
extravagance,  that  was  grievous  enough  surely ;  but  to 
have  the  truculent  Boggle  following  him,  like  a  Nemesis, 
with  Tom's  signature  on  his  paper,  —  following  him,  as  he 
knew  he  would,  wherever  he  went ;  to  feel  that  sooner  or 
later  he  must  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  and  obtain  help 
from  somebody  (he  scarcely  dared  think  from  whom) ,  or 
else  miserably  evade  his  promise,  —  that  was  too  much! 
How  could  he  evade  it?  What  desperate  measure  could 
he  adopt  to  free  himself  from  the  toils  which  had  been 
gathering  about  him  for  months  now  ?  Why  not  end  it 
all  by  flight?  Why  not —  But  do  not  brood  on  your 
desperate  chances,  dear  Tom,  or  let  }'our  thoughts  drop  to 
the  cool  depths  and  quiet  rest  below  the  dark  flood  at  your 
feet,  lapping  the  timbers  with  gentle  wash.  It  is  cow- 
ardly, it  is  unbecoming  a  Hammersmith  —  and  Oriana  ia 
coming ! 

He  starts  up,  shakes  himself  as  with  fresh  resolution, 
and  walks  rapidly  to  his  rooms.  Whence  the  new  hope 


224  HAMMERSMITH: 

the  brighter  vision,  had  come,  he  knew  not ;  nor  can  any 
of  us  know.  But  if  prayers  avail,  and  maidenly  interces- 
sion can  do  its  pure  office  without  the  medium  of  personal 
presence,  there  was  passing  into  Tom's  soul  an  inspira- 
tion and  a  delicious  uplifting  strength  from  a  source 
which  would  have  surprised  the  good  fellow  not  a  little, 
had  he  been  told  of  it,  but  the  effects  of  which  he  felt 
most  markedly,  thanking  God. 

There  was  much  hubbub  and  -dismay  next  morning  in 
the  college- world.  Hammersmith  suspended !  It  could 
not  be !  In  the  Bradstreet  scrape  ?  Impossible !  A 
dozen  men  could  swear  that  he  had  gone  quietly  to  his 
roo:a?s  after  the  firemen's  retreat.  As  many  more  could 
testify,  if  they  would,  that  no  Hammersmith  had  been  with 
them  in  their  after  vandalism.  But  would  these  latter 
come  forward  and  testify?  And  would  their  words  save 
Hammersmith,  whose  own  words  had  been  his  ruin? 
Nobod}7  could  say ;  and  Penhallow  was  vastly  troubled  in 
spirit  with  certain  facts  which  he  was  carrying  in  his  head. 

A  monster  petition  was  started.  The  sophomore  class, 
to  a  man,  put  down  their  names ;  and  the  other  classes 
came  forward  almost  unanimous^  to  save  Hammersmith, 
and  stave  off  the  chances  of  defeat  at  Worcester.  The 
faculty  was  to  be  most  respectfully  petitioned  to  review 
the  Hammersmith  case,  and  receive  the  testimony  of  men 
who  could  show  that  he  had  no  connection  with  the  affair. 
Classmates,  members  of  the  'Varsity,  men  who  hardly 
knew  him  except  by  sight,  called  to  beg  him  to  apologize 
to  the  faculty,  and,  for  the  honor  of  the  university,  not 
give  up  his  seat  in  the  crew  so  easily. 

Tom  was  flattered,  he  felt  his  importance,  he  was  sorry 
to  be  going ;  but  he  would  never  write  an  apology.  He 
packed  more  of  his  effects  ;  he  collected  a  few  tradesmen's 
bills  ;  he  called  on  Miss  Darby,  and  bade  her  good-by  in  a 
way  that  made  that  collected  young  woman's  heart  give 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  225 

ft  great  throb  of  pity  for  poor  broken  Tom ;  and  then  he 
waited  and  waited  for  the  final  word  from  the  authorities, 
when  he  felt  that  he  would  take  such  pleasure  in  announ- 
cing his  determination  to ' '  take  up  his  connections ' '  forth- 
with, and  never  return  to  the  cold  hospitality  of  the  uni- 
versity. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  the  president's  freshman  wa3 
climbing  to  Tom's  rooms  again.  He  handed  Tom  a  note, 
this  time  from  Dr.  Brimblecom,  requesting  him  to  call  at 
once  at  his  study ;  and  Tom  went  off  from  an  anxious 
roomful  of  friends,  to  hear  his  fate. 

What  passed  in  that  interview  may  better  not  be  de- 
scribed,— how  the  good  doctor  received  Hammersmith 
most  cordially,  in  a  manner  bespeaking  his  hearty  sympa- 
thy, and  proceeded  at  once  to  the  object  of  his  summons, 
the  faculty  having  deputed  him  to  talk  the  matter  over 
calmly  with  Hammersmith,  who  had  evidently  not  been 
implicated  in  the  offence  (as  they  had  since  learned  from 
a  trustworthy  source),  and  to  endeavor  to  adjust  the 
matter  satisfactorily ;  how  Tom  would  listen  to  no  ad- 
vances which  did  not  include  the  disclosure  of  the  origin 
of  the  slander  against  him,  although  he  was  most  sen- 
sibly touched,  and  deeply  thankful  for  the  doctor's  kind 
dealing ;  how  the  doctor  argued  with  him  at  greater 
length,  and  nearly  persuaded  him  that  he  was  marring  his 
own  life  by  mere  obstinacy,  and  quite  natural  j-outhful 
indignation ;  how  the  doctor  could  not  quite  conceal  his 
admiration  for  Tom's  fine  rage  and  manly  bearing ;  and 
how,  at  length,  producing  a  small  scrap  of  paper,  he 
told  Hammersmith  that  he  held  in  his  hand  the  paper 
charging  Hammersmith  with  complicity  in  the  fountain 
affair.  He  was  not  exactly  authorized  to  deliver  tins 
paper  to  Tom,  he  added  ;  but  he  could  take  the  liberty  of 
doing  so,  if  Tom  would  but  go  with  him  to  the  president's, 
and  retract  the  severe  language  which  Le  had  used  in  the 


226  HAMMERSMITH : 

faculty  room.  And  Tom  still  held  out ;  but  the  fatherly 
interest  of  the  kind-hearted  doctor,  the  sight  of  the  paper 
almost  within  liis  grasp,  the  thought  of  his  mother  let  us 
hope,  and  the  ease  of  stepping  across  tc  the  president's 
with  Brimblecom,  and  saying  the  simple  five  words  to  tli's 
offended  Dummer,  all  conspired  to  weaken  his  resistance  ; 
and  at  last  he  said,  — 

"  I  will  do  so,  doctor,  if  you  think  best." 

The  doctor  was  handing  him  the  paper,  when  he  stopped 
and  said,  — 

' '  But  I  had  forgotten  that  the  faculty  make  it  a  condi- 
tion in  the  case,  that  you  shall  not  take  part  in  any  more 
rowing  this  term,  Mr.  Hammersmith,  and  shall  show  a 
commendable  devotion  to  your  college-duties." 

Tom  was  more  aghast  than  ever,  —  this  condition  thrust 
in  just  when  every  thing  seemed  working  smoothly  for 
him  !  And  again  he  refused  to  have  any  thing  to  do 
with  the  retraction.  But  the  doctor  did  not  mean  that  the 
fine,  stubborn  fellow  should  destroy  his  whole  college- 
career  from  sheer  perversity ;  and,  with  that  suave  and 
genial  persistence  which  brought  men  down  so  effectually, 
he  worked  awaj'  at  Tom  till  he  calmed  his  fresh  fury,  and 
the  paper  was  handed  to  him. 

It  was  undated,  signed  with  no  name,  and  ran  simply  :  — 

I  have  the  honor  of  reporting  that  Mr.  Goldie  and  Mr.  Ham- 
mersmith were  concerned  in  the  destruction  of  the  fountain  on  Mr. 
Bradstreet's  grounds  on  Friday  night  last,  and  were  chief  actors 
in  the  disturbance  of  that  night.  X. 

A  simple  enough  slander,  which  a  word  from  Hammer- 
smith might  have  refuted  at  once.  But  some  idea  of  his 
state  of  mind  on  reading  the  small  paper  may  be  had, 
when  it  is  known,  that  on  opening  the  i'at-al  missive,  and 
casting  his  eye  rapidly  at  its  flourishing  chirograph}*,  Torn 
recognized  at  a  glance  the  well-known,  too  well-known 
of  Tuftou,  my  Lord  Tufton,  whose  curiously-folded 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  22? 

cotes  he  had  so  often  found  on  his  centre-table,  or  stuck 
up  in  his  mirror,  inviting  him  here  and  there. 

The  good  doctor  was  rather  astonished  at  this  cooi 
i  cadiug  of  the  note  where  he  had  expected  excitement  ; 
but  Tom  was  stunned,  stunned  by  the  persevering  malig- 
nity of  Tufton's  hatred;  and  saying  merely,  '•  It  is  a 
slander,  my  dear  doctor,  a  foul  slander  and  a  lie!"  he 
folded  the  note  carelessly,  and  they  went  off  to  the  presi- 
dent's. 

A  little  later  Tom  was  seen  crossing  the  quadrangle 
towards  his  rooms.  A  wild  crowd  pounced  upon  him  as 
he  went,  and  plied  him  with  eager  questions. 

"  How  is  it?     How  is  it,  Hammersmith?     Any  hope?  " 

"Oh,  it's  all  right!  I'm  not  going  off,"  said  Tom 
quietly;  and  the  crowd  danced  about  him,  and  hugged 
him,  and  cheered  (the  usual  demonstration  of  university 
joy?  you  will  observe),  till  the  quadrangle  echoed  with 
the  noise  of  their  shouts. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Tom?  You  don't  seem 
particularly  glad.  Have  you  murdered  old  Brimblecom  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly.  But  the  fact  is,  fellows,  I  am  forbidden 
to  row  any  more  this  term,  and  I  was  ' '  — 

"  Forbidden  to  row  !  Good  Lord,  you  don't  mean  it ! 
Well,  never  mind,  old  fellow,  cheer  up !  We'll  fix  that 
all  right !  "  And,  sure  enough,  the  monster  petition  was 
produced  (it  had  not  jet  been  handed  in) ,  its  caption  was 
altered  complete!}',  to  cover  an  urgent  appeal  that  Ham- 
mersmith might  be  allowed  to  retain  his  seat  in  the  uni- 
versity crew,  where  his  loss  would  be  irreparable  ;  and  the 
long  array  of  names  was  actually  pasted  below  this  prayer, 
and  sent  in  to  the  faculty. 

But  that  august  bod}7  had  yielded  points  enough :  on  this 
it  was  inexorable.  Glad  as  Tom  was  then  to  unpack 
his  trunks,  and  settle  once  more  into  his  old  life  ^nis  new 
life,  I  should  say),  and  save  himself  and  his  poor  mother 


228  HAMMERSMITH : 

the  disgrace  which  had  hung  over  him,  it  was  with  very 
bitter  feelings  and  sad  repining  that  he  gave  up  his  oar 
to  Albertson  that  evening,  and,  standing  at  the  boat- 
houses,  saw  the  old  boat  go  flashing  down  the  river  with- 
out him,  under  Miles's  long,  swinging  stroke. 

But  Oriana  did  not  so  much  think  of  Tom's  handing 
over  a  bit  of  pine  timber  to  Albertson,  and  giving  way  to 
regrets  and  self-reproaches  instead  of  "giving  way' 
under  McGregor's  sharp  orders  in  the  boat :  she  was 
rather  rejoiced  that  she  had  such  a  dear  father,  who  was 
such  a  friend  of  young  men,  as  well  as  such  an  intimate 
of  Dr.  Brimblecom's ;  and  that  the  man  who  had  saved 
her  life  had  been  rescued  from  suspension  through  en- 
treaties of  her  own. 

And  the  Tufton  note,  the  real  authors  of  the  vandalism, 
and  the  Boggle  promise  to  pay  ? 

The  note  from  "  X  "  Tom  did  not  show  to  a  soul  (for 
some  days  at  least),  excepting  only  Goldie,  who  had 
surely  an  equal  right  to  know  the  source  of  the  slander 
involving  himself  as  well  as  Hammersmith,  and  who  was 
drawn  even  more  closely  to  Tom  by  learning  how  fatally 
and  skilfully  the  unscrupulous  diplomatist  had  tracked  his 
victim  all  these  weeks.  Tufton  must,  of  course,  be  still 
hiding  in  Boston.  Woe  to  him  if  Hammersmith  or 
Goldie  should  come  upon  him  while  this  outrage  is  fresh 
in  their  minds ! 

The  faculty  was  by  no  means  satisfied  with  its  success 
in  enforcing  discipline ;  and  proceeding  to  decimate  the 
class,  and  having  already  selected  several  entirely  inno- 
cent men,  including  Albemarle  and  Freemantle,  the  real 
offenders  were  shamed  into  confession,  came  forward,  and 
gave  themselves  up ;  and  Penhallow  and  two  men  who 
have  not  figured  in  this  history  were  suspended  for  six 
months  as  the  ringleaders. 

How  the  Boggle  note  would  ever  have  been  met,  if  i» 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  229 

had  not  been  for  a  sudden  apparition  in  the  college-yard, 
is  hard  to  say.  But  when  the  time  for  the  second  pay- 
ment —  the  first  three  hundred  dollars  —  was  several  days 
overdue,  and  old  Boggle  had  left  a  greasy  card  of  threats 
under  Tom's  door,  demanding  immediate  satisfaction  under 
penal ty  of  public  disclosure  and  prosecution,  Tom  was  at 
his  wits'  end  for  some  way  out  of  his  web.  Suddenly, 
one  afternoon,  he  heard  a  familiar  volley  of  "  Gad,  sirs !  " 
under  his  window,  and,  rushing  down,  ran  plump  into  the 
arms  of  his  bronzed  uncle  Gayton,  who  was  about  mount- 
ing his  stairway,  stouter  and  grayer  than  when  he  had  left, 
but  jolly  and  opportune  as  ever. 

To  learn  Tom's  story,  with  all  its  important  details,  — 
which  Tom  told  with  shame  not  unmixed  with  a  pleasant 
sense  of  relief,  —  and  to  run  over  his  own  roving  history 
since  he  had  left  Tom  so  many  months  ago,  was  not  the 
work  of  a  single  hour,  or  a  single  evening.  It  was  a 
long  story  on  Tom's  part :  it  was  a  merry,  intermittent 
chronicle  on  the  part  of  his  uncle, — how  he  had  sailed 
away  to  China  with  a  sinking  heart,  and  arrived  to  find 
his  business  going  at  sixes  and  sevens  till  he  had  put  his 
own  shoulders  to  the  wheel,  brought  his  sturdy  business- 
head  to  bear  on  the  matter,  and  had  left,  after  a  year, 
with  prosperity  showing  its  shiny  face  in  his  coffers,  where 
before  there  had  been  ever-increasing  elbow-room  for  panic. 

How  the  dear  old  philosopher  laughed  over  Tom's  story, 
as  its  ridiculous  incidents  were  told  him !  How  he  amazed 
Tom  by  his  easy  reception  of  all  the  more  distressing  fea- 
tures of  the  business  !  — the  midnight  imprisonment  with 
old  Boggle,  the  extorted  note,  the  previous  loan  to  Tufton, 
and  my  lord's  treachery  throughout.  He  did  his  very 
philosophical  best  to  control  his  mirth,  and  to  look  be- 
comingly severe  at  proper  intervals  ;  but  his  nephew  alive 
and  well  before  his  eyes,  an  early  appreciation  that  the 
Dusiness  was  not  so  bad  as  Torn  would  make  out  and  a*? 


230  HAMMERSMITH : 

he  had  at  first  feared,  and  a  not  inexcusable  or  unaccount- 
able tinge  of  delight  at  finding  the  same  old  Hammersmith 
pluck  and  love  of  warfare  and  stiff-necked  ness  still  crop- 
ping out,  would  not  allow  him  to  look  on  the  serious  side 
of  the  affair  for  long  at  a  time,  but  tended  to  his  exceed- 
ing merriment. 

"  So  the  old  boy  turned  the  key  on  you,  that  night,  eh? 
Gad,  sir,  why  didn't  you  murder  him?  Ram  him  into  the 
closet,  and  elope  over  the  roof-tops  with  the  daughter, 
like  }roung  Lochinvar,  who  came  up  out  of  the  West? 
Cambridge  is  to  the  westward,  eh?  Had  his  hand  on  a 
pistol !  What  of  that?  I'll  tell  you  a  story  about  a  pis- 
tol some  day,  humph  !  "  And  he  instinctively  put  his  hand 
to  his  forehead.  "Eh?  Ferocious  old  party !  Death  in 
his  eye !  All  the  more  glory  in  getting  away  with  him ! 
The  Hammersmith  blood  is  only  fairly  aroused  when  it  is 
pounding  away  in  an  uphill  game  ;  didn't  you  know  that, 
my  boy  ? ' '  And  the  old  fellow  rattled  on  thus  about 
Tom's  various  experiences,  cheering  him  amazingly  with 
his  merry  treatment  of  it  all,  seeing  that  he  cheered  him, 
and  so  rollicking  on  with  him,  and  chaffing  him  the  more. 

Tom  opened  his  heart  to  him,  at  last,  as  he  had  never 
expected  to  be  able  to  do  to  anybody  on  the  subject.  He 
told  him  the  whole  sorry  story  of  his  connection  with  Tuf- 
ton :  how  he  had  been  flattered  at  the  first  by  his  polite 
attentions  and  marked  discrimination,  led  on  by  his  pleas- 
ant suppers  and  wily  tactics,  going  so  far  as  to  quarrel 
with  Goldie,  the  best  friend  he  had,  on  his  account,  and 
finally  bringing  up  in  this  wretched  Boggle  business 
and  Tufton's  slanderous  accusation  before  the  faculty ; 
and  how  he,  Tom,  had  shamefully  neglected  his  good 
"tiends,  the  Darbys  and  Fayerweathers  and  oummcrdales, 
•  Jl  he  was  so  inextricably  involved  with  all  this  mass 
of  intrigue,  that  he  was  ashamed  to  show  his  face  among 
them,  and  didn't  see  how  he  could  ever  regain  his  footing 
vith  them. 


HIS    HARVARD   DAYS.  Z6\ 

"  A  bad  fellow,  a  bad  fellow,  Tufton  !  "  said  Mr.  Gay- 
ton.  "  Uut  a  sly -witted  schemer,  Tom,  a  low-bom,  sly- 
wilted  schemer!  Gad.  sir!  the  way  that  class  of  men, 
with  their  curbed  hypocrisy  of  good  manners,  and  their 
showy  seductions,  pull  the  wool  over  the  eyes  of  young 
fellows  (and  old  fellows,  too.  for  that  matter,  unless  they 
kiiLnv  a  thing  or  two)  is  something  fearful !  Don't  take 
on  about  it,  though,  Tom.  my  boy.  From  your  account, 
you  mil";  have  plenty  of  company  in  your  victimizing, 
eh?  Eh?  Malachite.  Malachite — -it  must  be  the  son  of 
old  Mrs.  Malachite,  llame  of  Minturn's  in  the  last  century  ! 
Gad  !  but  there's  a  Satanic  grimness.  a  sort  of  poetic  jus- 
tice, in  the  fellow's  bleeding  you  young  rascals,  and  then 
inviting  you  to  a  feast  provided  by  your  own  kindness, 
paid  for  out  of  your  own  pockets,  eh  !  A  sort  of  Pelo- 
pean  banquet.  — isn't  that  what  you'd  call  it?  A  shrewd 
fellow,  Tom,  a  devilish  shrewd  fellow  !  The  dense  of  it  is, 
how  he  could  ever  have  kept  it  up  so  long.  Two  or  three 
years  !  Everybody  glad  enough  to  keep  mum  about  his 
own  folly,  I  suppose,  and  nobody  daring  to  take  the  vil- 
lain by  the  beard,  till  you  came  along,  Tom.  80  Breesc 
did  3'ou  a  good  turn,  eh?  " 

k>  Yes  :  Breesc  is  a  good  fellow,  a  mighty  good  fellow  ! 
But,  by  Jove  !  I  wish  I  could  have  caught  Tufton  !  lie 
wouldn't  have  had  ' ' 

';  Yes,  yes,  I  know  what  you  would  have  done.  — 
thrashed  him,  as  I  saw  you  thrashing  a  sophomore  on 
the.  Delta  last  year.  —  only  you  were  on  the  underside! 
for  convenience  of  lighting.  I  suppose.  You  would  have 
had  a  big  row,  an  awful  exposure,  no  end  of  scandal, 
your  mother  in  tears,  and  you  butting  your  head  against 
a  stone  \\all  in  despair  ;  while  now  we  can  manage  it  all 
well  cnougi  .  Tufton  has  gone,  good  riddance  !  Boggle 's 
note  we  can  manage,  — money  obtained  under  duress. — • 
though  I  have  a  mind  to  take  it  out  of  your  allowance, 


232  HAMMERSMITH: 

you  young  reprobate,  just  for  a  lesson  !  And,  as  for  your 
never  being  able  to  regain  your  footing  with  your  Cam- 
bridge friends,  don't  you  deceive  yourself!  Gad,  man! 
what  have  you  done  to  be  ashamed  of?  My  word  for  it, 
you'll  be  received  with  open  arms  whenever  you  make 
your  first  bow  in  their  parlors.  Have  /  lost  my  footing 
with  the  good  and  the  great  ?  Eh  ?  But  you  are  sarcas- 
tic at  times,  I  remember  ;  and  you  need  not  answer.  My 
only  fear  is,  that  you  will  meet  such  an  ovation  that  your 
silly  young  head  will  be  turned,  you  rogue  !  Nothing  like 
an  adventure  and  a  little  dubious  glory  to  make  way  with 
the  women,  Tom  ;  though  I  would  not  inculcate  that  as  a 
doctrine  for  young  men  to  live  up  to :  men  find  it  out 
soon  enough,  Heaven  knows  !  " 

And  the  soft-hearted  old  cosmopolitan  was  as  good  as 
his  word ;  sent  Boggle  a  polite  note,  requesting  him  to 
call  at  Parker's  on  very  particular  business  ;  received  him 
as  he  might  a  prince,  or  an  interior  Chinaman  from  whom 
he  hoped  to  buy  a  province  full  of  tea  ;  led  gradually  up  to 
the  matter  of  Tom's  promise  to  pay,  with  the  slow  progress 
familiar  to  Oriental  traders  ;  and  then,  by  an  exhibition  of 
unexpected  firmness,  and  knowledge  of  the  law  in  the  case, 
demanded  the  surrender  of  the  paper  in  question.  Boggle 
had  of  course  refused  to  make  this  surrender,  and  rose  to 
leave. 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Mr.  Hammersmith,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "I  invite  you  here  as  a  gentleman;  I  treat 
you  as  a  gentleman ;  I  talk  over  the  matter  with  you 
quietly  ;  we  both  know  the  follies  of  youth  ;  and  you  know 
as  well  as  I  do,  that  you  have  no  shadow  of  right  or  law 
in  demanding  payment  of  that  note.  If  you  choose  to 
meet  the  issue  in  a  different  spirit  from  that  in  which  1 
approach  it,  of  course  I  have  no  resource  but  to  insist  on 
my  rights.  Relinquish  that  note  at  once,  before  to-mor- 
row noon,  with  the  one  hundred  dollars  blood-money  tha4 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  233 

you  have  already  received,  or  I  have  you  arrested  as  a 
criminal,  and  publish  you  to  the  world  as  a  —  you  know 
what!  Good-day,  sir."  And,  bowing  magnificently,  he 
actually  forced  the  mean-spirited  actor  out  of  the  room 
by  his  grand  manner,  without  allowing  him  further  re- 
joinder. 

That  very  evening  came  a  tobacco-scented  note  by  the 
hand  of  a  call-boy,  restoring  the  promise  to  pay,  but  beg- 
ging indulgence  in  the  matter  of  the  hundred  dollars.  To 
which  Mr.  Hammersmith  returned  a  cold  answer  in  a  few 
lines,  to  the  effect  that  he  thanked  him  for  the  paper ; 
that  the  paltry  sum  of  a  hundred  dollars  was  not  of  suffi- 
cient account  to  be  mentioned  ;  that  he  had  better  forget 
it,  and  every  thing  connected  with  this  afiair,  except  that 
he,  Hammersmith,  could  see  a  little  farther  through  a 
millstone  than  most  sub-managers  might  think  possible ; 
and  that,  if  occasion  arose  at  any  time  in  the  future,  he 
might  feel  called  upon  to  make  known  to  the  world  (in- 
cluding the  Boston)  which  patronized  the  theatrical  pro- 
fession, exactly  what  he  had  discovered  on  the  other  side 
of  that  grindstone  recently  manipulated  by  himself  and  a 
certain  Tufton. 

If  the  old  gentleman  was  amused  at  the  boy's  sprawl- 
ing signature  at  the  bottom  of  the  note  surrendered,  he 
was  sad,  in  his  way,  at  the  thought  of  what  the  young 
man  must  have  gone  through  in  all  these  weeks  of  doubt 
and  fear.  But  then  he  caught  sight  of  the  "  value 
received"  in  the  note,  and  went  off  into  a  merry  fit  of 
solitary  laughter,  which  would  have  thrown  my  Lord  Tuf- 
ton (judicious  smiler !)  into  convulsions,  had  he  seen  its 
uncontrolled  length. 

He  brought  the  note  post-haste  to  Tom  next  day,  and 
delivered  it  with  a  speech  of  mock  gravity,  as  if  he  were 
presenting  his  credentials  to  the  Emperor  of  China,  o~ 
handing  Tom  a  death-warrant  or  a  marriage-certificate, 


234  HAMMEKSMITH  : 

or  any  thing  else  portentous,  and  twitted  him  on  the 
phrase  which  had  caught  his  eye.  But  Tom  assured  him, 
on  the  word  of  a  Hammersmith,  that  his  honor  was  clear, 
that  the  famity  name  had  received  no  blot  from  him  ;  and 
his  uncle  quickly  changed  the  subject  by  congratulating 
him  on  the  happy  termination  of  the  Boggle  imbroglio. 

"Halloo!  what's  this?"  said  Tom,  on  recei ving  the 
awful  document.  "  Tuf ton's  handwriting,  by  all  that's 
holy!  "  And,  opening  a  letter-case,  he  took  from  it  the 
small  paper  covering  the  fountain  slander,  and  laid  the 
two  side  by  side.  "I  never  noticed  it  when  I  signed  it. 
The  very  same  !  No  one  ever  crossed  a  t  like  Tufton ; 
and  there  are  the  same  old  cursed  flourishes  !  ' ' 

The  two  men  examined  the  papers ;  no  mistaking  it ; 
Tufton' s  ear-marks  in  both. 

"Funny  I  didn't  notice  it  that  night,"  said  Tom. 
"  Thought  Boggle  wrote  it  right  before  my  eyes.  Re- 
member now  he  turned  his  back  to  me.  Hang  him  !  He 
had  this  in  his  pocket  all  the  time !  Tufton  must  have 
written  it  in  Cambridge,  the  wretch !  Or  could  he  have 
written  it  in  Miss  Boggle's  very  rooms  ! ' ' —  Good  Heavens, 
the  tom-cat !  The  noise  he  had  heard  that  night !  The 
excitement  of  the  girl,  when  he  had  approached  her  dress- 
ing-room, and  several  lesser  incidents  that  had  occurred 
before  and  since  !  Could  it  be  that  Tufton  had  a  habit  of 
secreting  himself  in  that  adjoining  room,  listening  to  nil 
his  twaddle  and  vows,  while  pretending  that  he  hardly 
dared  speak  to  the  Boggle,  much  less  go  near  her  rooms 
for  fear  of  her  father ! 

But  these  last  reflections  were  to  himself ;  and  he  saw 
no  need  of  imparting  this  wretched  phase  of  the  business 
bo  his  uncle,  who  would  have  been  perhaps  dangerously 
amused,  to  the  verge  of  apoplex}-,  b}-  the  drollery  of  the 
tom-cat  episode.  So  Tom  shook  these  too  persistent 
thoughts  from  him ,  and  reiterated  for  the  hundredth  tune 


.  HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  235 

the  great,  the  unspeakable  gratitude  which  he  bore  his 
uncle  for  all  his  kindness. 

The  old  gentleman  said,  "Pooh,  pooh!  It's  nothing! 
Only  look  after  yourself  in  the  future,  Tom,  or  I  disown 
you  !  "  and  rattled  off  to  his  club,  happy  in  the  youngster, 
and  revolving  plans  for  his  vacation. 

For  despite  the  uncle's  jolly  manner,  which  he  thought 
the  best  way  of  receiving  Tom's  pitiful  tale,  he  was  not  a 
little  disturbed  at  the  young  man's  saddened  look,  and 
general  air  of  dejection  and  despair ;  and  he  was  planning 
what  radical  change  of  scenes  and  associations,  for  at 
least  a  part  of  Tom's  summer  vacation,  would  be  best 
calculated  to  restore  him  to  himself,  before  he  should 
return  to  his  mother's  too  watchful  eyes.  Thus  cogitating, 
he  drew  up  at  his  club,  met  Shaw  going  up  the  steps,  and 
the  two  old  classmates  joined  forces,  and  soon  agreed 
upon  a  summer's  lark,  in  which  Tom,  and  perhaps  some 
of  his  friends,  should  accompany  them. 

Penhallow,  then,  had  been  suspended,  and  Tom  was 
again  alone, — lonely  in  that  deeper  sense  in  which 
widowhood  is  lonelier  than  celibacy,  as  Winthrop  says. 
The  faculty  had  sent  a  not  altogether  unwelcome  letter  to 
Penhallow's  family,  regretting  the  occurrence  which  had 
compelled  his  departure,  testifying  to  Pen's  general  excel- 
lence of  deportment,  and  favorable  influence  in  Cambridge, 
but  intimating  that  this  particular  offence  was  of  so  aggra- 
vated a  nature  that  it  could  not,  in  justice  to  good  disci- 
pline, be  passed  over  lightly. 

"  Good-by,  old  fellow!"  said  Penhallow,  bursting  in 
upon  Tom,  several  days  after  his  departure  from  Cam- 
bridge. Tom  was  busy  on  a  letter  to  his  mother,  to  whom 

,  his  thoughts  turned  more  often  now,  as  he  was  freed  more 
and  more  from  his  entanglement.  "Good-b}':  ,I'm  not 
coming  back,  as  I  had  jvoposed.  Going  to  California 

/uext  week." 


236  HAMMEBSMITH : 

"Nonsense,  Pen:  you  must  come  back!  What  am  1 
going  to  do  without  you?  "  said  Tom. 

"  O  Lord  Harry,  you'll  survive !  I'm  not  such  a 
heart-breaker  as  that.  Never  knew  it  before,  at  any  rate  ! 
Fact  is,  this  life  is  too  slow  for  me.  I  can't  screw  all 
this  Greek  and  Latin  into  my  head ;  and  what  should  I  do 
with  it,  if  I  could?  I'm  too  fond  of  horses  and  out-door 
life,  old  fellow  ;  and  I  think  you  are  too.  An  old  friend  of 
mine,  Bob  Simmons,  —  you've  heard  me  speak  of  him,  — 
has  a  big  ranch  out  near  Santa  Barbara,  or  Los  Angeles, 
or  some  place  there,  —  no  end  of  horses  and  cattle  ;  and 
I'm  going  out  to  join  him.  Governor's  going  to  set  me 
up,  if  I  like  it ;  and  you  see  if  I  don't  have  you  out  there 
too,  some  day,  or  I  am  vastly  mistaken  in  you,  Tom !  It's 
a  glorious  wild  life,  —  in  the  saddle  most  of  the  time,  and 
a  little  scrimmage  with  the  natives  now  and  then,  a  sort  of 
half-breed  Mexican  and  Indian,  Simmons  writes  Perkins. 
Just  the  kind  of  life  you  and  I  have  often  talked  of, 
shut  up  in  these  old  walls.  Hur-rah !  By  the  vfa,y,  I'm 
going  to  leave  '  Baldy '  for  you,  Tom,  if  you  want  him,  — 
the  horse  you  liked  so  much  last  year.  He's  been  out  to 
pasture  for  some  weeks  ;  but  I  had  him  up  yesterday,  and 
he's  a  stunner,  I  tell  jrou !  You'll  take  him,  and  think  of 
me  when  you  ride,  Tom?  Old  Windgall  will  take  good 
care  of  him  for  you :  Freemantle  says  they're  very  par- 
ticular with  his  mare,  and  I'm  sure  she  alwa}Ts  looks  like 
a  piece  of  satin.  Say  you'll  take  him,  Tom,  and  I'll  have 
him  brought  over  at  once,  when  he's  shod,  or  keep  him  up 
till  next  term ;  just  as  you  say.  Saddle,  bridle,  every 
thing,  of  course,  my  dear  fellow.  Simmons  says  our  rig 
is  of  no  use  out  there,  with  their  Mexican  horses.  They 
have  some  peculiar  saddles  and  bits  of  the  r  own, — very 
cruel  bits,  I  hear." 

And  with  some  protestation  and  very  many  thanks 
Tom  at  last  accepted  the  present  of  the  very  beautifu 


HIS  HABVABD  DAYS.  237 

bay  that  he  had  ridden  several  times  with  great  satisfac- 
tion ;  and  Penhallow,  with  much  characteristic  enthusiasm 
over  his  new  career,  and  many  hopes  that  Tom  might  join 
him  in  the  Far  West  some  day,  took  up  his  "  connections  " 
with  the  university,  and  was  soon  embarking  from  New- 
York,  via  Panama,  for  the  ranch-life  of  which  he  knew  so 
little,  and  expected  so  much  ;  not  before  he  had  sat  down 
to  a  farewell  dinner  in  his  honor,  however,  and  had  been 
toasted,  and  sung  over,  and  wept  over,  by  a  dozen  or 
more  of  his  friends,  whom  Hammersmith  and  Goldie, 
masters  of  the  feast,  had  invited  to  bid  their  popular 
classmate  farewell,  and  wish  him  good  voyage. 


238  HAMMEESMITH : 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A   SUMMER   CRUISE. 

"  Sad  or  sinful  is  the  life  of  that  man  who  finds  not  the  heavens  bluer  and  th« 
waves  more  musical  in  maturity  than  in  childhood." — HIGGINSOK. 

"Weary  and  sick  of  our  books,  we  come  to  repose  in  your  eyelight, 

As  to  the  woodland  and  water,  the  freshness  and  beauty  of  Nature." — CLOUGH. 

HOW  Hammersmith  lived  through  the  humiliation  of 
leaving  the  university  crew  in  this  enforced  manner ; 
how  he  received  a  measure  of  consolation  in  the  tremen- 
dous reputation  which  the  greater  publicity  of  his  previous 
entanglements  brought  him ;  how  magnanimous  he  was,  on 
hand  every  evening  at  the  boat-houses  to  help  the  crew  off, 
following  them  again  and  again  in  a  single-scull  or  pair 
oar,  coaching  them,  and  getting  them  in  form  for  the 
corning  struggle ;  how  he  called  on  Professor  Darby,  and 
thanked  him  effusively  for  his  kind  intercession  with  the 
faculty  in  his  behalf  (Goldie  having  advised  him  of  the 
professor's  intervention,  though  saying  nothing  of  a  cer- 
tain other  more  gentle  pleader,  whose  words  had  affected 
the  parental  heart  still  more  than  Goldie 's  classmate 
appeal)  ;  and  how,  at  length,  the  great  race  came  off  at 
Worcester,  and  Harvard  was  beaten  by  a  couple  of 
lengths,  though  pulling  a  plucky  race,  with  two  men  on 
the  sick-list,  lapping  Yale  several  times  in  its  course,  —  all 
this  is  well  known  to  college-men  of  the  day,  but  must  be 
passed  over  lightly  here. 

Ton  is  not  especially  proud  of  referring  to  this  period 
of  the  world's  history  and  his  own.     He  cannot  help  feel- 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  239 

ing  that  if  he  had  been  in  the  crew  that  fatal  day,  instead 
of  yelling  himself  hoarse  on  the  banks,  among  his  univer- 
sity men,  the  order  of  the  boats  at  the  finish  might  have 
been  quite  reversed.  Men  were  saying  so  freely  about 
him,  why  should  he  not  feel  as  they  did,  conscious  as 
he  was  of  a  tingling  strength  in  his  muscles  that  would 
have  rejoiced  to  be  displaj'ing  itself  in  the  old  place  bo- 
hind  Goldie,  and  sure  as  he  was  that  he  would  have  had 
the  staying-power  to  carry  him  through  the  race,  and  not 
be  a  dead-weight  half  the  way,  as  Albertson  had  been? 
He  was  beside  himself  when  he  saw  the  boats  come  leap- 
ing down  the  lake,  Yale  perceptibly  in  advance :  he  could 
have  brained  a  knot  of  Yale  men  at  his  elbow,  who  were 
cheering  like  madmen,  and  throwing  their  blue-ribboned 
hats  in  the  air.  Why  will  men  be  such  fools,  he  thought  ? 
But  he  could  have  cried  when  Goldie,  that  evening,  sit- 
ting in  his  room  at  the  Bay  State  House,  said  sorrow- 
fully,— 

"Ah,  Tom!  if  you  had  only  been  there!  It  was  the 
one  thing  I  thought  of  through  the  whole  race  ;  and  I  put 
on  every  pound  of  weight  I  could,  for  your  sake  and  my 
own.  Albertsou  didn't  so  much  as  pull  his  own  weight,  all 
the  way  from  the  turning-stake  down." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it !  "  said  Tom.  "  But  don't  let's 
speak  of  it,  George.  I  could  see  it  perfectly  from  the 
bank ;  and  I  was  so  blind  with  rage  at  nryself  and  my 
beastly  folly,  that  I  could  have  shot  myself.  I  shall  never 
row  again." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will !  "  said  Goldie.  "  You'll  pull  next 
year,  and  senior  year  too ;  and  we  shall  beat  old  Yale  as 
she  was  never  beaten  before,  for  the  defeat  this  year!  " 
And  the  dear  old  warrior,  who  was  to  be  stroke  of  the 
,  '  Varsity  himself  next  year,  God  willing,  grew  quite  elo- 
quent over  the  prospect  of  having  Tom  behind  him,  as  he 
had  hoped  to  have  him  in  this  race. 


240  HAMMERSMITH : 

But  Tom  insisted  and  declared,  and  insisted  over  again, 
that  he  should  never  pull  again,  never,  unless  to  paddle 
for  his  own  amusement,  as  Pinckney  did,  and  as  Breese 
was  beginning  to  do ;  but  as  for  racing,  no,  he  should 
never  pull  another  race.  Vows  of  youth  are  often  broken, 
however  —  more's  the  pity  !  — as  this  chronicle  shows,  and 
as  your  own  heart  will  tell  you,  unfortunate  reader,  if, 
perad venture,  you  have  a  beard.  If  not,  far  be  it  from 
me  to  hint  that  broken  troth  and  forgotten  promises  are 
scattered  in  your  wake  —  a  bas  the  thought ! 

Mr.  Gayton,  his  friend  Shaw,  and  numbers  of  other 
Harvard  men,  were  on  hand  at  Worcester,  grieving  in  the 
defeat,  to  be  sure,  but  hardly  taking  the  matter  so  much 
to  heart  as  the  interested  youngsters,  for  whom  it  meant 
world-wide  disgrace  and  another  up-hill  year  of  training 
and  subscription-raising  in  Cambridge.  Mr.  Gayton,  for 
his  part,  as  we  might  expect,  knowing  him  even  so  little 
as  we  do,  took  the  whole  matter  in  so  merry  a  mood,  that 
the  crew  —  whom  he  entertained  sumptuously  the  follow- 
ing evening,  with  many  other  college-men  —  were  quite 
carried  away  by  his  genial  manner  and  cordial  bonhomie, 
voting  him  a  "  brick  "  when  they  separated  that  night,  as 
their  predecessors,  and  some  few  of  themselves,  had  done 
once  before,  so  long  ago,  at  Parker's. 

It  was  with  the  same  bustling  merriment  that  he  bade 
Tom  write  from  Worcester  to  his  mother,  to  say  that  he 
would  not  be  home  till  towards  the  end  of  vacation,  as 
uncle  Gayton  was  to  take  him  on  a  little  cruise ;  and  to 
beg  her  not  to  worry,  for  he  was  "  all  right."  And  thep 
he  said  impulsively,  "Give  me  the  pen,  my  boy!"  and 
added  this  postscript  to  Tom's  letter :  — 

MY  DEAR  EMILY,  — Shaw  and  I  are  going  off  for  a  month's 
yachting  along  the  coast,  and  have  kidnapped  Tom  and  his  friend 
Goldie.  Do  not  get  into  a  fret  about  him,  or  dwell  on  the  sad 
Bea  waves  and  "  sich"  too  often:  it's  a  briny  subject.  The  fact 


HIS    HAH  YARD    DAYS.  2'U. 

is  the  fellow  has  liucl  a  pretty  hanl  year,  with  his  chemistry  and 
anthropology,  anil  some  private  studies  that  he  has  been  taking; 
and  I  thought  it  would  do  him  good  to  have  u  biv.iti1.  of  salt  air 
for  a  few  weeks,  lie's  as  handsome  as  ever.  ;'.nd  us  line  a  young 
Hammersmith  as  any  of  the  line,  excepting  aluays  twOj  my  dear 
Emily.  My  love  to  Mabel  and  Diek.  Tell  I>i;:k  he  may  appropri- 
ate  the  cane  that  I  left  the  other  day.  against  ihe  time  of  need: 
I  have  a  room  full  of  them:  useless  to  send  it  on. 

With  sentiments  of  distinguished  consideration,  as  the  diplo- 
uiates  say,  I  am,  my  dear  Emily, 

Always  yours, 

GAYTON. 

"  No,  no  you  rascal !  you  needn't  read  that,"  said  the 
uucle.  "  Seal  it  up,  and  drop  it  in  the  post.  Gad,  sir! 
'<v<mi;l  you  rob  the  mail?  "  And  Tom  laughed,  and  posted 
tho  letter  to  his  mother. 

She,  dear  soul,  read  it  sadly  but  hopefully,  trusting 
that  her  dear  boy  had  not  been  ruining  his  health  by  too 
docs  application  to  hi;;  studies,  of  which  she  had  heard 
such  mournful  examples.  Anthropology  and  private 
studies !  Wiry  was  not  the  dear  boy  content  with  the 
regular  course,  instead  of  taking  more  work  upon  himself? 
Ah,  Gayton,  ingenious  Gay  ton  !  matching  diplomacy  with 
diplomacy,  the  wiles  of  Tufton  with  the  pardonable  sub- 
terfuge of  a  fond  uncle.  If  ::!'  deception  were  as  innocent 
arid  well-meant  as  3'ours  ! 

So  these  four  stalwart  gentlemen  coursed  up  and  down 
the  bold-dropping  New-England  coast  that  summer  now 
long  past,  continuing  their  cruise  as  far  as  Mount  Desert, 
sud  bringing  back  so  full  reports  of  its  exceeding  attrac- 
tiveness, that  they  consider  themselves  in  no  small  meas- 
ure responsible  for  the  vast  patronage  which  that  pretty 
bit  of  Ei  stern  wilderness  has  since  received,  —  a  bit 
indeed,  O  Fhilippus  !  on  your  grand  Occidental  standard. 
„  To  Tom,  at  least,  who  had  never  been  on  the  ocean 
before,  or  felt  its  great  heart  throbbing  under  him,  but 


242  HAMMERSMITH : 

had  only  watched  the  pulses  in  its  beautiful  arms,  the 
Hudson  and  the  Charles,  this  freer  excursion,  this  breezy 
liberty  of  sailing,  was  a  novelty  very  refreshing  to  the 
spirits.  How  far  off  and  unreal  his  bitter  experience,  his 
close  life  in  Cambridge,  seemed  to  him !  And  how  he 
braced  himself  to  new  resolves  under  the  influence  of  the 
genial  company,  the  mighty  ocean-breaths  which  blew 
upon  them,  the  removal  from  the  scene  of  his  late  esca- 
pades ! 

Let  me  not  seem  to  exaggerate  the  effect  of  his  un- 
happy sophomore  experience  on  the  youth  Hammersmith. 
Everybody,  I  fear,  is  bound  to  discover,  sooner  or  later, 
that  the  fair  round  world  is  honeycombed  with  deceit  and 
treachery.  Whether  the  head  be  gray,  or  the  cheeks  still 
ruddy,  when  the  discovery  is  ir.£,dc,  the  shock  is  sure  to 
come,  and  something  very  tender  and  valuable  is  sure  to 
be  lost.  But  a  comprehensivs  ploi,  a  personal  warfare, 
against  an  unsuspecting  youth,  whose  eyes  have  only  just 
opened  upon  real  life  among  his  fellows,  does  it  not  bring 
a  staggering  revelation  and  a  blinding  sense  of  malignity 
quite  foreign  to  slower  and  later  discoveries  ? 

Happy  the  youth  who  r.t  such  a  time  can  have  some 
imch  cheering  presence  as  Mr.  Gayton  Hammersmith  to 
break  in  upon  the  murky  doubts  with  which  he  is  sur- 
rounded !  God  bless  the  dear  old  Gayton  and  his  cheer- 
ful philosophy !  Bless  him  for  his  quick  intuition  that 
what  his  nephew  needed  was  not  sanctimonious  reproof, 
but  wholesome  sympathy  and  vigorous  affection !  In  the 
broad-shouldered  young  student  pacing  the  deck  of  the 
"Moll  Pitcher,"  knitting  his  brow  over  the  problem  which 
life  had  set  him,  and  taking  a  fresh  grip  upon  resolution 
(even  as  the  old  skipper  at  the  helm  is  grasping  afresh  the 
straining  tiller),  you  would  hardly  recognize  the  younger 
Hammersmith  of  the  time  of  Mr.  Andrew  Pipon,  the 
graceful  young  rider  of  those  thoughtless  days.  Life  was 


HIS  HAKVAKD   DAm  243 

BO  honest,  so  straightforward,  so  filled  with  rainbows  then, 
in  those  happy  daj's  when  he  chased  the  merry  hours  along 
the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  free-hearted  as  a  centaur! 
What  were  calm  evenings  and  gorgeous  sunsets,  purple 
mountain-outline,  and  fair,  fleeting  seasons,  to  him  then! 
And  nD77  they  were  working  an  influence  of  which  he  had 
never  dreamed  before,  and  were  quieting  the  troubled 
spirit  of  Hammersmith  c,o  he  had  never  expected  it  to  be 
qiu'eted  again,  on  tiat  titter  day  when  he  sat  in  his  Mas- 
sachusetts window-seat,  and  heard  his  uncle's  volley  of 
u  Gad,  sirs  ! "  in  the  quadrangle  below. 

"  How  far  away  and  unreal  the  Cambridge  life  seems !  " 
said  Hammersmith  to  Goldie,  as  they  were  scudding 
through  the  waters  of  Frenchman's  Bay  one  gusty  mid- 
afternoon.  The  young  men  were  lying  on  the  leeward 
side  of  the  }~acht,  enveloped  in  pea-jackets,  smoking  and 
talking  intermittently  as  they  skirted  the  picturesque 
shores.  "  It  seems  yssxs  sinse  that  cursed  evening  when 
we  were  hauled  up  before  the  faculty.  And  as  for  Tufton, 
bah !  I  should  imagine  it  was  in  some  bygone  century 
that  the  villain  left  Cambridge  that  rainy  dajr,  like  a  thief 
in  the  night." 

"  May  I  trouble  you  for  a  light?  Thanks  !  "  said  Gol- 
die. "  So  it  does.  And  I  can  hardly  decide  which  I  like 
better,  —  grinding  away  in  Cambridge,  or  skimming  along 
this  glorious  coast  with  you  and  3'our  joll}-  uncle,  old  boy." 

"  I  know  perfectly  well  which  /  like  best,"  answered 
Tom.  And  then,  after  a  pause,  he  asked,  "  George,  what 
did  you  think  of  me  all  those  long  months  when  I  was 
making  such  a  condemned  fool  of  myself?  What  did  the 
fellows  think?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.     There  are  always  plenty  of  fel- 

.  lows  to  ba  glad  when  another  fellow's  going  to  the  devil, 

as  they  think.     But  I  think  a  good  many  men  were  mighty 

vorry  to  see  the  way  that  Tufton  seemed  to  be  getting  an 


244  HAMMERSMITH : 

influence  over  you ;  and  yet  they  knew  you  too  well  to 
dare  to  say  a  word  to  you  about  it.  Breese,  I  know,  for 
one,  was  deusedly  wrought  up  about  it,  and  came  to  see 
me  several  times  about  the  matter.  But  you  knew  I  vaa 
bound  to  stand  it  out  as  long  as  you  would ;  and  I  gave 
him  to  understand  that  you  could  paddle  your  own  canoe, 
for  all  I  cared." 

"  Yes,  yes.  But  we've  talksd  that  all  up,  George  ;  and 
I  am  sure  y:-r.  were  justified  in  keeping  away  from  me. 
But  what  will  everybody  think  of  me?  —  your  cousin,  and 
the  Faj'erweathers,  and  others.  Do  you  suppose  they 
hear  all  the  college-gossip  ?  ' ' 

"Well,  I  hardly  know,"  answered  Goldie,  smiling. 
"  I'm  afraid  the  college-halls  don't  keep  their  secrets  as 
well  as  they  might,  old  fellow.  But  what  if  they  do 
know  of  3'our  troubles?  There's  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of,  as  far  as  I  have  heard  them." 

"  Oh,  but  I  was  such  a  donkey,  George !  Come,  tell 
me  ;  how  much,  for  instance,  of  my  Boggle  affair  did  you 
ever  hear?  " 

"  Nothing  veiy  definite  ;  only  that  you  were  considera- 
bly smashed  with  that  little  Lee  girl  to  whom  Tufton 
introduced  you,  and  that  the  '  cruel  parient '  popped  in  on 
^Tou,  per  order  of  Tufton,  just  in  time  to  extort  that  note 
from  3*ou.  Of  course  there  were  all  sorts  of  wild  rumors 
of  duels  and  encounters,  and  so  forth.  But  freshmen 
&re  easily  excited  at  a  Iittl6  scandal,  and  I  am  sure  no- 
bod}'  ever  really  believed  there  was  any  harm  in  the  affair : 
they  mostly  knew  that  it  was  a  put-up  job  of  Tufton's, 
and  a  very  neat  one  too." 

"  Did  3'ou  never  hear  any  particulars  of  my  meeting 
Vrith  old  Boggle,  and  how  the  girl  behaved?  " 

"  Never,  except,  as  I  sa}-,  through  these  vague  rumors." 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  then,  and  about  how  the  little  minx 
led  me  on  from  week  to  week.  Gad,  what  a  blind  idiot  * 


HIS  HARVARD   DAYS.  24$ 

was !  "  And  Hammersmith  went  on  to  detail  to  Goldie 
all  the  miserable  history  which  we  have  seen  him  enacting 
in  the  Joy-street  court;  and  the  unburdening  himself 
seemed  an  infinite  relief,  after  all  these  weeks  of  solitary 
brooding. 

Goldie  was  intensely  amused ;  so  Tom  rattled  on,  inter- 
spersing his  story  with  much  bitter  self-reproach,  and  yet 
much  relieved  to  find  that  the  clear-headed  Goldie,  whom 
he  had  taken  for  such  a  straight-laced  Puritan,  did  not 
look  upon  his  escapades  as  damning  him  forever  in  the 
eyes  of  his  friends.  When  Tom  came  to  the  tom-cat 
insinuation,  and  intimated  that  my  Lord  Tufton  was 
undoubtedly  the  animal  in  question,  with  his  ear  at  the 
keyhole  on  the  other  side  of  the  dressing-room  door,  and 
that  all  Tom's  tender  vows  and  boyish  twaddle  had  been 
poured  forth  merely  to  amuse  that  back-stairs  diplomate, 
Goldie  was  vastly  tickled.  He  threw  his  cigar  into  the 
sea,  and  roared  with  delight  at  the  farcical  situation  ;  Tom 
joining  in  his  merriment  with  no  ill  grace,  now  that  he  was 
well  out  of  the  scrape,  but  stopping  suddenly,  and  saying 
sternly,  — 

"  Hang  the  rascal !  Let  me  run  across  him  again  some 
day,  and  we'll  see  if  he  puts  his  ear  to  keyholes  again ! 
By  the  way,  I  gave  Pen  carte-blanche  to  murder  him,  and 
charge  the  affair  to  my  account,  if  he  ever  met  him  in 
his  travels.  I  give  you  the  same  commission,  George ; 
and  between  the  three  of  us  I  hope  the  scoundrel  will  get 
a  good  square  pounding,  to  say  the  le&st,  before  he  dies." 

A  sleepy  head,  ornamented  with  a  jaunty  Oriental  cap, 
appeared  up  the  gangway  as  they  were  laughing ;  ar.d  a 
roice  said,  gaping  the  while,  — 

"Gad,  sir!  I  thought  we  had  run  into  a  shoal  of  por- 
poises, or  taken  aboard  a  mermaid  '  with  a  comb  and  a 
glass  in  her  hand,  hand,  hand ! '  What's  the  row?  Skip- 
per, the  hours  between  two  and  four  are  sacredly  set  apart 


216  HAMMERSMITH: 

for  slumber  on  this  craft ;  and  I  beg  you  will  enforce  the 
order  to  the  utmost,  and  pitch  these  young  reprobates  into 
the  sea,  if  they  persist  in  roaring  like  sea-calves  at  im- 
proper moments.  Do  you  hear  ?  "  And  scowling  fearfull}-, 
in  mock  gravity  of  manner,  at  the  culprits,  Mr.  Gayton 
disappeared.  The  skipper  shouted,  "Ay,  ay,  sir!"  and, 
shaking  his  head  at  the  young  men,  put  the  yacht  about, 
and  made  a  rapid  run  back  to  their  moorings  at  Bar 
Harbor. 

Four  weeks,  then,  of  lazy  cruising  along  the  grandest  of 
their  country's  coasts,  four  weeks  of  the  genial  Shaw,  the 
"Duke,"  and  large-hearted  Goldie,  and  Tom  was  bowling 
home  to  the  small  family  on  the  Hudson,  — bowling  home 
with  a  kit  of  clothing  densely  odorous  of  brine,  and  with  a 
feeling  that  his  world  was  pushed  a  little  farther  into  sun- 
shine by  his  summer's  merry  outing,  and  that  Mr.  Gayton 
Hammersmith  was  about  the  most  satisfactory  uncle  that 
could  be  imagined. 

To  the  mother  and  the  rest  he  was  a  man  full  grown 
as  he  burst  in  upon  their  quiet  life  in  latter  August.  He 
was  a  man,  because  he  had  passed  through  an  educating 
experience  that  had  aged  him,  and  opened  his  eyes,  and 
given  strength  to  the  outlines  of  his  character.  He  was  a 
man,  because  he  had  conquered  himself  and  the  ogre  Cir- 
cumstance, with  whom  he  had  to  battle  (conquered  through 
the  aid  of  kind  allies,  to  be  sure) ,  and  showed  in  his  very 
air  that  he  was  not  afraid  to  join  issue  again  with  the  same 
odds.  But  he  was  the  same  warm-hearted  son  and  broth- 
er as  before,  with  more  gentleness  and  less  bumptiousness, 
in  fact.  Yet  the  fond  mother,  not  content  with  his  manly 
growth  and  his  safe  return,  now  began  to  harass  her  raind 
by  looking  forward  to  that  nearing  time  when  he  would  be 
through  his  college-course,  and  be  ready  to  take  his  man's 
part  in  the  world ;  for  then,  she  felt  sure,  would  come 
the  separation  which  would  be  only  next  to  final  for  hei, 


HIS    HARVARD    DAYS.  247 

tvhcn  other  interests  —  the  busy  world,  perhaps  an  early 
home  of  his  own  —  would  claim  him,  and  she  would  have. 
no  right  to  resist. 

Ah !  "  the  life  of  a  parent  is  the  life  of  a  gambler,"  as 
Sjxlney  Smith  has  said.  This  too  anxious  little  mother  of 
the  nineteenth  century  was  no  exception  to  the  long  line 
that  have  watched  every  turn  of  the  game,  every  flutter  of 
change  in  their  venturous  offspring,  with  awful  interest, 
since  time  began.  If  some  gentle  power  could  only  assure 
them  when  all  is  well,  and  anxiety  needless  !  But  the 
"?ates  seein  to  order  otherwise  ;  and  the  tender  souls  go 
on  watching  and  praying,  and  wearing  their  lives  out  with 
bitter  doubt,  while  their  sons  prance  through  the  world 
regardless,  meeting  their  solicitude  with  "  the  light  scoff 
of  commerce."  Would  that  the  solicitude  were  appreci- 
ated !  But  3'outh  is  confident  and  brave,  sufficient  for  its 
own  heart}'  times  ;  and  who  shall  tell  them  that  these  will 
nqt  always  last? 

So  the  good  mother  wavered  between  joy  and  apprehen- 
sion, — joy  at  her  handsome  boy  returned,  filling  the  home 
with  sunshine  ;  tremulous  apprehension  of  the  shadowy 
future.  For  the  Past  alone  is  secure  ;  the  Present  slips 
ever  with  closing  eyes  into  its  dark  chambers,  and  the 
tliree  Sisters  spin  in  silence,  unobser-ed  of  men. 


248  HAMMEESMTTH : 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

JUNIOR  TEAR,    WITH   A    SECOND   PHILIPPIC   FROM   BREESE. 

"  As  to  [people  in]  society,  .  .  .  eternal  and  tedious  botheration  is  theirnotion 
of  happiness,  sensible  pursuits  their  ennui!  "  —  CHARLOTTE  BRONTB. 

"All  honeste  hartes  ought  to  prosecute  their  good  ttteraptes  and  contempue 
the  ballynge  of  dogged  curres."  —  ROBERT  RECORDE,  Whetstone  of  Wit,  1007. 

"  Let  the  Songs  be  Loud,  and  Cheerefull,  and  not  Chirpings,  or  Pulings." 

BACON. 


succeeds  better  than  success,"  sa3's  the 
French  proverb.  Applause  is  so  easy,  when  genius 
stirs  itself,  and  provokes  the  attention  of  the  rabble  ! 
Jones  is  so  anxious  to  have  3*ou  to  dine  when  your  book 
or  your  gold-mine  pays,  or  3~our  speech  in  Congress  has 
electrified  the  nation  (for  a  brief  hour)  :  "  My  dear  fellow, 
I  always  said  you  had  it  in  j*ou  ;  jrou  were  only  biding 
3Tour  time.  There  has  been  nothing  like  it  for  years  !" 
Beauty  smiles  so  sweetly  when  the  hero  of  the  hour  ducks 
before  her,  bright  with  honors.  The  streets  echo,  the  world 
hums,  and  weak  men  are  carried  off  their  feet,  when  the 
popular  current  seizes  on  the  happ}r  result  of  their  labori- 
ous davs,  and  dubs  it  a  wonderful  thing.  A  man  needs 
to  stand  modestty  at  the  centre  of  things,  with  his  03*03 
to  t!  e  ground,  before  the  cheers  of  the  mob.  So  much 
more  difficult  to  bear  is  success  than  defeat. 

Breese,  self-centred,  complacent,  heroic,  was  in  little 
danger  of  being  moved  by  the  fame  and  prominence 
which  his  scholarly  habits  had  brought  him.  He  had 
come  up  to  Cambridge  with  tolerably  defined  ideas  of 
what  he  was  seeking,  and  what  course  of  life  he  proposed 


HIS   HAEVAKD  DAYS.  249 

to  live.  He  had  been  fairly  successful  in  his  first  year, 
and  made  his  mark  already  as  a  hard-working  student  of 
more  than  ordinary  talent.  If  his  kangaroo  race  in  the 
football  game,  and  his  solitary  floating  coat-tail,  have 
seemed  to  define  him  as  an  eccentric  specimen  of  the 
student  class,  the  implication  is  wide  of  the  truth.  Eccen- 
tric he  was,  in  a  certain  sense,  as  being  original  and  non- 
conforming,  and  magnificently  strong  in  his  convictions  : 
otherwise  he  was  in  no  especial  way  to  be  distinguished 
from  a  hundred  stalwart  Harvard  men  of  his  day  and 
generation,  —  clear-eyed,  muscular,  thoughtful,  scorning 
delights,  and  living  laborious  days,  and  by  his  second  and 
third  year  so  far  assimilated  in  dress  and  manner  to  the 
men  about  him  as  to  pass  for  a  Harvard  man,  or  at  least 
a  Bostonian,  on  the  most  distant  prairies  of  the  "West ; 
so  generalizing  is  the  dress-power  and  the  deportment  of 
the  university,  and  so  unconsciously  had  Breese  slipped 
from  the  rather  uncouth  manners  and  garments  of  his 
early  freshman  year  into  conformity  with  the  average  mass 
about  him.  A  scholarship  which  he  had  secured  at  the 
end  of  his  first  year  had  enabled  him  to  dress  with  a  more 
comfortable  plainness,  and  supply  his  rooms  with  several 
things  sadly  needed  before.  His  association  with  Goldie 
and  Albemarle,  Pinckney  and  Hammersmith,  in  "  The 
Forum,"  his  relation  to  Hammersmith  in  the  Tufton  cZe- 
noument  (which  was  soon  noised  about),  and  a  heart}7 
interest  in  college  sports  and  victories,  which  separated 
him  widel}*  from  the  race  of  "digs"  pure  and  simple, 
conspired  to  render  him  a  far  from  obscure  man  in  his 
class  ;  although  his  original  way  of  looking  at  tilings,  and 
a  certain  unexpectedness,  which  never  allowed  yon  to 
know  exactly  how  he  stood  on  any  matter  till  he  had  de- 
•  clared  himself,  prevented  him  making  those  ardent  friend- 
ships, and  gaining  that  quick  popularity,  which  men  of 
more  fluent  natures  were  apt  to  meet. 


250  HAMMERSJSHTH : 

Of  all  the  phases  of  college-life, — its  successes,  its 
failures,  its  fiery  ambitions,  its  rivalries,  its  strong [y- 
cemented  friendships, — there  is  none  which  calls  foi 
more  admiration  (although  not  alwa}-s  gaining  it)  than  the 
spectacle  of  a  patient  worker  Mice  Breese,  coming  up 
unknown,  unheralded  by  fame  fron  the  great  schools,  and 
steadily  advancing  to  the  front  by  dint  of  native  force  and 
indomitable  nerve.  Popularity,  social  pleasures,  extrava- 
gant dressing,  fine  living,  are  nothing  to  him  ;  nor  are  the 
slights  and  eloquent  silence  of  men  who  think  themselves? 
above  him,  who  look  askant,  or  with  withering  directness, 
at  his  coarse  clothes,  and  think  themselves  very  clever 
in  deciding  his  position  in  life,  present  and  to  come,  by 
the  cut  of  his  coat.  How  the  tables  are  often  turned  on 
the  gilded  critics  of  those  early  times  !  How  successful 
scholars  and  "  digs,"  risen  to  eminence,  might  gloat  over 
their  former  detractors,  if  the  spectacle  of  failure  were  not 
too  miserable  for  self-pluming !  But  perhaps  the  sweet- 
est thing  in  all  college-life  is  that  class  feeling,  which, 
after  years  of  graduation,  reduces  all  honors  and  dignities 
to  the  common  plane  of  youthful  equality,  or  seeming 
equality;  when  judges  and  ministers,  envoys-extraor- 
dinary, and  gentlemen  who  are  plenipotentiary  in  more 
humble  stations,  merchants,  doctors,  pedagogues,  artists, 
poets,  take  off  their  mantles,  and  appear  again,  on  com- 
mencements and  at  re-unions  of  classes,  as  the  plain  Bobs 
and  Joes  of  a  less  discriminating  era ;  when  men  who 
have  undershot  their  mark  are  met  as  though  the}*  had 
made  a  yearly  bull's-eye,  and  rivalries  are  forgot,  and 
small  men  feel  themselves  great,  and  great  men  see  no 
especial  good  in  their  greatness,  and  the  world's  work  is 
taken  up  again  with  lighter  heart  and  a  sense  of  better 
appreciation.  Heaven  be  praised  for  this  cheering  Com- 
munity of  feeling ! 

When,  then,  the  lists  of  his  second  year  came  out,  and 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  251 

Breese  was  found  to  lead  his  class  by  an  easy  first,  his 
reception  among  his  fellows  and  his  professors  was  quite 
different  from  that  accorded  him  at  Ms  entrance  CD.  the 
college-field.  He  was  a  power  now :  he  was  booked  for 
first  place  in  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  ;  his  chances  for  a  summa 
cum  laude  at  graduation  were  freely  canvassed ;  and  a  less 
self-poised  man  might  have  been  prone  to  forget  his  high 
ideals  in  the  babble  of  praise  which  his  high  rank  pro- 
voked, to  mistake  shadow  for  substance,  and  think  him- 
self an  earth-shaking  power  for  gaining  what  he  really 
considered  empty  college-honors,  bawbles  of  no  possible 
use  in  the  man's  work  which  he  had  set  for  himself  after 
graduation.  He  little  knew  what  fate  awaited,  him,  and 
how  his  resolution  to  fit  himself  for  his  country's  service, 
and  to  interest  himself  primarily  in  aifairs  of  government 
and  national  politics,  was  destined  to  be  turned  into  quite 
another  and  more  turbulent  channel  foaming  redly.  But 
who  knows  his  own  fate  a  year,  or  an  hour,  in  advance  ? 
And  who  shall  say  that  all  previous  living  and  resolving 
are  vain,  if  they  lead  up  to  one  grand  deed,  however 
postponed  ? 

Differing  widely  from  him  in  tastes  and  temperament, 
and  yet  akin  in  a  certain  zest  and  heartiness,  infusing 
every  thing  which  he  undertook,  Hammersmith — now  that 
he  had  turned  his  back  on  hi;:  eld  life,  with  its  bitter  mem- 
ories, never  to  be  quite  loot  —  was  drawn  singularly  to 
this  heroic  man  working  out  his  own  problem  so  sturdily. 
By  a  natural  impulse  common  to  vigorous  natures,  Tom 
inclined,  without  knowing  it,  from  one  extreme  to  another ; 
and,  having  escaped  from  the  purple  lanes  where  my  Lord 
Tuft  on  would  have  delighted  to  lead  him,  he  was  drawn 
irresistibly  to  the  philosopher  Breese,  pacing  the  hilltops, 
and  lifting  his  brow  to  the  skies,  — Breese,  who  had  done 
aim  a  kind  office  in  the  Boggle  imbroglio,  and  into  whose 
*cholarly,  solitary  life,  he  had  had  occasional  glimpses  in 
the  past  two  years. 


252  HAMMERSMITH : 

It  was  a  Temporary  enthusiasm  of  Tom's.  It  could 
hardly  last.  But  for  a  while,  at  least,  he  had  thoughts  of 
becoming  a  mighty  scholar,  giving  up  society  completely', 
never  rowing  again  of  course,  —  as  he  had  made  a  vow 
to  that  effect,  —  and  cultivating  Breese  and  men  of  his 
sort.  Some  such  idea  of  the  evanescent  nature  of  Ham- 
mersmith's moods  maj7  have  entered  Breese's  mind ;  but 
he  said  nothing  about  it.  And  when  Tom,  several  weeks 
after  the  luxurious  junior  year  had  begun,  came  to  beg 
that  Breese  would  coach  him  in  his  chemictry  for  a  few 
weeks  (as  he  declared  he  was  lamentably  behind-hand) , 
Breese  could  not  refuse  his  request,  though  begrudging 
the  time  sadly. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Breese,"  said  Tom,  one  day  not 
long  after  this.  "I'm  going  to  make  you  change  your 
life  !  Do  you  want  to  know  how  ? ' ' 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  considering  it,  merely  in  the 
abstract.  But  I  doubt  your  success.  I'm  a  pretty 
crooked  stick  to  deal  with,"  answered  Breese. 

"It's  nothing  very  tremendous,"  said  Tom.  "I'm 
simply  going  to  make  you  go  out  into  society  with  me. 
It  isn't  right  for  you  to  shut  yourself  up  here  all  the 
time." 

"Heavens,  do  I?  I  have  at  least  a  five-mile  walk 
every  day,  or  a  row  equally  long,  and  plenty  of  dumb- 
bells and  clubs  in  wet  weather." 

"  That's  all  well  enough  !  But  I  don't  mean  that  you 
need  exercise  or  outing  especially.  Everybody  knows 
you're  about  the  strongest  man  in  the  class,  except  Cleg- 
horn  ;  and  he's  so  lubberly,  that  he's  no  us3  in  a  boat  or 
cricket.  But  you'll  grow  morbid  if  you  don't  go  out 
among  people  more." 

"  Grow  what !  "  shouted  Breese,  standing  .up,  and  look- 
ing comically  at  Hammersmith.  "  Morbid  !  Bless  you,  J 
don't  know  what  the  word  means !  "  And  the  stern-faced 


HIS    HARVARD   DAYS.  253 

scliol.'ir  laughed  heartihy,  and  caught  up  a  huge  dumb-bell 
from  the  corner  of  his  room,  and  twirled  it  over  his  head. 
Tom  certainly  thought,  as  he  looked  at  the  healthy  fellow, 
with  colorleos  cheeks  to  be  sure  (but  then  he  had  never 
had  much  color  in  his  face),  eyes  as  clear  as  a  horse's, 
firm  flesh,  and  every  indication  of  perfect  physique,  that 
he  had  chosen  an  ill  word  to  express  himself  withal. 

"Well,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  continued  Tom. 
"Digging  away  in  your  room  here  is  all  very  well :  no- 
body knows  it  better  than  I,  though  3*011  may  smile  at 
my  saying  &o.  Leading  the  class  is  very  well :  it's  a 
mighty  big  honor,  such  a  class  as  we  have,  by  Jove  !  But 
don't  you  think  a  fellow  grows  a  little  rusty  and  cobwebby, 
if  he  don't  brush  himself  about  among  people  a  little?  " 

"Hold  on  a  minute:  let's  see  what  }"ou  mean.  You 
say  society  at  one  tune,  people  at  another.  Society  and 
people  are  quite  different  matters." 

"What  in  the  world  do  you  nuan?  Put  down  that 
dumb-tell !  I'm  afraid  of  you,  Ereese,"  said  Tom. 

"  Society,  so  called,  is  a  machine  :  people  are  men  and 
women  with  heads  on,  and  the  ability  to  use  them.  That's 
all." 

"  'Poii  my  word,"  said  Tom.  "  Then  you  mean  that 
I  am  in  the  habit  of  promenading  with  mowing-machines, 
ind  taking  tea  occasionally  with  a  very  charming  and 
lomestic  sewing-machine,  and  so  on !  Come,  Breesc, 
you're  too  severe  !  " 

"You've  chosen  your  own  kind  of  machines,"  said 
Breese ;  "though  some  men  do  find  that  they  have  been 
frisking  and  capering  with  mowing-machines  most  de- 
cidedly !  I  mean  simply,  that  in  society  such  as  3-011  are 
thinking  of,  every  thing  is  cut  and  dried,  everybody  is 
like  everybody  else ;  and,  as  Emerson  says,  '  Society 
everywhere  is  in  conspiracy  against  the  manhood  of  every 
one  of  its  members.'  There  is  no  play  for  individuality. 


254  HAMMERSMITH : 

A  man  might  as  well  whistle  to  the  sea  as  try  to  get  any 
benefit  from  the  fashionable  powwows  that  are  in  vogue. '; 

"  But  don't  you  consider  that  light-heartsdness  and 
free  movement,  yes,  and  a  hearty  exchange  of  merest 
small-talk,  are  good  for  a  man?"  asked  Hammersmith. 

"Most  decidedly.  But  is  there  no  danger  of  its  all 
relapsing  into  light-heartedness  and  merest  tittle-tattle, 
and  nothing  else  ?  —  the  society  that  you  fellows  frequent, 
I  mean,  of  course.  Heavens !  I  believe,  if  I  had  only 
a  bit  of  Albertus  Magnus's  skill,  I  could  make  a  brazen 
man  like  his,  that  would  answer  all  the  purposes  of  ordi- 
nary flummery.  He  should  have  an  adjustable  dorsal 
spring  to  admit  of  the  most  elaborate  bowing  and  scrap- 
ing, a  right  arm  capable  of  describing  circles  of  various 
diameters  (for  obvious  convenience  at  your  dances) ,  and 
the  most  tireless  of  brass  feet.  Then  with  an  evening- 
suit,  a  pair  of  gloves,  and  a  few  short  phrases,  such  as 
'Yes,  it's  very  warm,'  'May  I  have  a  turn?'  'Thanks, 
you're  very  kind,'  '  How  can  you.  Bay  so,  my  dear  Miss 
Blank ! '  my  man,  I  venture  to  say,  would  make  as  pre- 
sentable an  appearance  as  the  average  of  your  young 
bucks,  eh?  " 

"By  Jove!"  said  Tom,  laughing  heartily,  "you've 
mistaken  your  calling,  Breese.  You  should  try  a  society- 
novel,  or  run  a  tilt  at  evening  parties  in  general." 

"No,  but  seriously,  Hammersmith:  I'm  more  than 
half  in  earnest.  People,  men  and  women  with  something 
to  say ;  a  dinner,  if  3-011  will,  to  provoke  conversation,  and 
warm  cold  natures ;  a  musical  part}-,  with  really  good 
music,  —  well,  I'll  throw  in  a  dancing  party  or  two  for  a 
season,  that  will  do  very  well,  —  show  me  such  a  society 
as  that,  and  if  you  have  the  entree,  and  can  smuggle  me 
in,  I  will  join  you  with  all  my  heart.  But  your  intermi- 
nable whirling  and  gossiping  and  namby-pambyiism,  bah  .' 
Young  ladies  at  home,  in  the  bosom  of  their  families, 


HIS  HABVAED  DAYS.  255 

where  they  can  meet  a  man  tranquilly  and  talk  a  half- 
minute  without  distraction  by  music,  or  by  some  per 
fumed  teetotum  begging  permission  to  whirl  them  about 
the  room,  — they  are  in  their  place,  they  are  rational.  On 
horseback,  too,  as  I  have  seen  Miss  Darby  several  tinier 
this  year,  or  rowing  even,  or  taking  care  of  the  sick, 
or  doing  any  thing  else  that  they  can  in  a  sensible,  wo- 
manly way,  I  can  respect  them,,  and  worship  them  (at  a 
distance) ,  and  confess  that  every  thing  else  in  the  world 
seems  clumsy  and  unlovejy  in  comparison." 

"  Good  for  you !     Go  on !  "  said  Hammersmith. 

"But  Miss  What-do-3'e-call-em  at  an  evening-party," 
continued  Breese,  not  apparent!}"  hearing  Tom,  "  hopping 
through  a  waltz  with  some  extremely  miserable  specimen 
of  our  own  sex,  or  screeching  at  the  piano,  with  a  young 
swell  twiddling  the  leaves  of  her  song,  and  turning  in  the 
wrong  place  invariably,  both  looking  very  warm  and  uncom- 
fortable —  is  there  stronger  evidence  of  insanity  ?  And 
a  pair  of  young  spoons  playing  at  love-making,  and  mak- 
ing fools  of"  — 

"By  Jove,  Breese!  put  on  the  brakes,  if — you — • 
please,"  said  Tom.  "  Let  me  have  a  word !  You  can 
beat  me  in  stating  your  case,  any  day ;  but  I  protest  against 
your  giving  this  as  a  correct  version  of  Cambridge  society. 
It  sounds  mightily  like  Thackeray's  style  of  looking  at 
things." 

"  I  confess  that  I  may  have  had  his  tirade  in  '  Men  and 
Coats  '  in  mind ;  for  I  am  fond  of  it :  and  I  think  he  hit 
the  nail  on  the  head,  in  exclaiming  against  the  absurd 
entertainments  going  under  the  name  of  evening-parties." 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  was  thinking  of  great  London,  metropoli- 
tan scrimmages  of  the  most  mixed  character,  —  no  end 
of  officers  leaning  in  the  door- ways,  ogling  and  criticising 
the  crowd,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  It's  a  difference  in  quality,  not  in  kind  certainly," 
Baid  Breese. 


256  HA  MMEESMITH . 

"  No :  it's  a  difference  in  both.  It  has  no  more  to  do 
with  Cambridge  parties  than  the  man  in  the  moon.  I 
don't  pretend  that  we  talk  philosophy,  or  read  Hebrew 
without  the  points,  or  discuss  thorough-bass,  by  way  of 
amusement ;  but  I  do  say  that  there  is  no  flunrmerj',  or 
nonsense,  or  extravagant  foil}'  of  any  kind  whatever.  Avid 
as  for  hopping  through  a  waltz,  my  dear  fellow,  you  will 
excuse  me,  but  you  are  extremely  wide  of  the  mark.  The 
waltz  is  the  most  graceful  and  smooth  of  dances  ;  and  the 
way  they  dance  it  here,  gliding  through  it  with  the  evenest 
possible  motion,  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw  of 
the  kind." 

"I  do  not  stop  at  technicalities,"  said  Breese,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand.  "Flummery,  sugar-plums,  gabble- 
gabble,  hoppity-skip,  screeching,  idiocy,  it's  all  the  same. 
When  you  tell  me  that  I  shall  be  rusty  and  cobwebbj^, 
if  I  do  not  —  what  did  you  say  ?  —  rub  myself  up  in  such 
a  mess  of  twaddle,  Heavens,  I  have  a  private  notion  that 
rust  and  cobwebs  are  better  than  vacuity !  And  I  must 
say,  give  me  these  meaty  old  worthies  between  covers 
here,"  waving  his  hand  towards  his  row  of  favorite  books, 
—  "  give  me  these  and  my  walking-stick,  and  let  who  will 
take  care  of  society.  Society !  " 

"  Now,  see  here,  Breese,  I'll  convict  you  out  of  your 
own  mouth.  Wasn't  your  whole  argument,  in  that  speech 
of  yours  in  '  The  Forum '  last  year,  in  favor  of  keeping 
au  courant  with  the  times,  and  cutting  loose  from  the  past? 
And  here  you  are,  arguing  in  favor  of  shutting  yourself  up 
with  your  books  and  your  thoughts,  and  not  coming  out  to 
mingle  with  the  people  of  your  own  times  at  all !  " 

"  Gracious  heavens  !  '  People  of  your  own  time  ' !  My 
dear  Hammersmith,  did  it  ever  occur  to  you  in  your  wild- 
est moment  of  festive  happiness,  that  you  were  keeping 
abreast  of  the  times,  and  deserving  well  of  the  republic, 
when  you  were  prancing,  or  gliding  about,  as  you  say,  01 


HIS  HARVARD   DAYS.  257 

talking  nonsenss  to  a  young  butterfly,  in  the  parlors  here- 
abouts? That's  precisely  the  trouble.  The  people  of  oui 
times  are  about  quite  other  business ;  and  the  danger  is, 
that  you  become  so  infatuated  with  this  thin  splendor  as 
never  to  appreciate  any  thing  more  solid.  But  I  beg  par- 
don for  appearing  to  be  personal.  When  I  say  you,  1 
mean  those  who  think  like  you,  of  course." 

"Oh!  that's  all  right,"  answered  Tom.  "I've  no 
doubt  that  much  you  say  is  true,  Breese ;  only  I  am  so 
constituted  that  I  must  see  people  (mowing-machines  I 
should  say),  and  cannot  be  contented  to  mew  myself  up 
all  the  time,  as  you  seem  able  to  do." 

"  Certainly ;  and  it  is  right  that  you  should  follow  your 
inclinations,  if  you  are  sure  that  they  are  genuine  and  cor- 
rect," answered  Breese.  "God  knows  I  crave  society, 
society  in  ths  sense  of  companionship," — he  paused  a 
moment,  —  "  as  much  as  anj-body ;  but  I  cannot  sacrifice 
myself  or  my  time  in  the  society  such  as  my  observation 
tells  me  exists  round  about  us.  Cambridge  circles,  I 
make  no  doubt,  are  as  improving  and  enjoyable  as  most 
others,  —  no  more,  no  less.  My  life  is  so  different  from 
yours,  Hammersmith. !  You  have  money  and  friends,  and 
a  certain  position,  —  no,  no,  don't  deny  it !  I  am  not 
blind,  and  I  am  not  complaining,  —  you  know  that  well 
enough.  My  greatest  aim  in  college  —  now  I  will  confess 
to  you,  since  we  have  had  such  a  frank  talk  —  is  to  unite 
studious  habits  with  a  genuine,  thorough  interest  in  every 
thing  going  on  about  us,  — in  national  matters  as  well  as 
in  the  smaller  area  of  college-affairs.  Believe  me,  it  is 
not  easy  to  keep  an  even  keel  amidst  distracting  interests, 
doing  j'our  work  squarely,  and  not  wrapping  yourself  in 
conceit  on  that  account,  sharing  the  interest  cf  you  boat- 
ing-men, —  no?  you  are  not  a  boating-man? — well,  shar- 
ing the  boating-excitement,  and  not  giving  way  to  it. 
But  now  I  am  ashamed  of  having  talked  so  much  of  my- 
self. You'll  excuse  me  ?" 


258  HAMMEESMITH : 

"Don't  speak  of  it,"  said  Tom.  "What  should  a 
man  speak  of,  to  be  sure!  —  among  friends,  at  any  rate? 
I'm  sure  you  have  vastly  more  friends  than  you  think  you 
have,  Breese,"  — Breese  shrugged  his  shoulders,  — - "  and 
I  do  not  despair  of  tempting  you  out  into  the  field  of 
twaddle  some  day.  You  certainly  will  allow  that  you 
would  be  an  improvement  on  your  patent  brass  man, 
eh?" 

"Perhaps  so,  perhaps  so,"  said  Breese.  "  Not  a  bad 
material  for  the  fellow,  though, — brass.  You  know, 
Rocbefoucauli  says,  '  Confidence  goes  farther  in  society 
than  wit.'  My  man  would  be  an  immense  success,  I  feel 
convinced,  —  'A  howling  swell,'  as  I  heard  one  of  your 
young  society-buds  say  in  the  horse-cars  the  other  day. 
"Well,  good-by,  if  you  must  go.  To-inorrow  evening, 
then,  seven  o'clock  sharp.  I  have  an  extra  chemistry: 
you  need  not  bring  yours.  Better  fetch  over  your  note- 
books, however." 

How  could  Hammersmith  hope  to  convert  so  tough  a 
disputant,  with  his  ingrained  opinions  so  stubbornly  main- 
tained? How  could  he  expect  to  persuade  a  man  like 
Breese  to  come  down  from  his  high  hilltops,  and  join  the 
company  of  merrymakers  in  the  Happj-  Valley?  Was  a 
man  whose  ami  and  plan  in  life  had  been  so  strenuously 
lived  up  to  hitherto,  whose  favorite  books,  constantly 
thumbed,  were  his  Emerson  and  Marcus  Aurelius,  and  the 
others  above-mentioned,  to  leave  them  all  for  the  thin  gos- 
sip and  aimless  capering  such  zs  he  supposed  passed  for 
society  about  him  ?  He  was  unjust,  :nost  assuredly.  He 
was  severe,  without  doubt,  ac  Hammersmith  had  inti- 
mated. His  "  flummeries,  gabble-gabble,  hoppitj'-skip," 
was  an  unfair  verdict  on  the  juvenile  Cambridge  world 
in  which  Hammersmith  and  his  friends  were  happy  to  min- 
gle, and  on  the  cordial  hospitality  which  Cambridge  houses 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  259 

extended  to  the  young  gentlemen  annually  thronging  up 
to  the  university.  Let  Hammersmith  and  his  biographer 
take  this  place  to  record  their  indebtedness  and  their  trib- 
ute to  the  genial  hosts  and  the  kindly  matrons  who  make 
the  homeless  students  welcome  in  their  parlors,  and  do 
wnat  they  may  to  add  a  little  cheer  to  their  young  bachelor 
exile.  Breese  would  have  blushed  to  speak  as  he  did,  if 
he  had  known  from  personal  knowledge  their  friendly  re- 
ception and  frank  entertainment  of  young  men  whose  only 
passport  was  their  college-papers  and  their  gentlemanly 
bearing.  "  Flummery,  idiocy,"  indeed ! 

But  if  Hammersmith  had  known  how  heavity  ballasted 
all  reformers  and  specialists  and  nonconformists  are 
obliged  to  be  in  order  to  keep  an  even  keel,  as  Breese 
had  said,  among  the  conflicting  interests  about  them,  he 
would  have  understood  better  Breese' s  strong  exaggera- 
tion. If  he  had  reflected  how  many  a  man  of  this  kind 
has  to  whistle  to  keep  his  courage  up,  and  overstate  his 
case  for  fear  of  forgetting  his  own  points,  he  would  not 
have  wondered  at  Breese's  animadversion  on  society  and 
harmless  amusement  generally.  He  did  not  know  all 
this,  however ;  and  he  went  away  from  this  first  of  many 
discussions  with  Breese,  feeling  that  he  was  ridiculously 
severe.  And  yet  he  saw  snScient  grains  of  truth  in  what 
Breese  had  said  to  cause  him  to  reflect  seriously  on  the 
attitude  of  mind  which  could  allow  such  speech.  Ham- 
mersmith was  no  flippant  reveller  to  enjoy  senseless  flum- 
mery and  things  which  Breese  held  idiotic,  if  they  were 
really  senseless  and  idiotic ;  and  so  he  carried  into  all  his 
subsequent  harmless  pleasures  and  society  life  a  memory 
of  this  strongly-expressed  opinion  of  Breese's,  provocative 
of  frequent  thought. 

It  was  b  it  the  beginning  of  a  long  series  of  animated 
ilebates  between  the  two  classmates.  Hammersmith  was 
younger,  vast!}  less  experienced,  more  impressional,  than 


260  HAMMEKSMITH: 

Breese.  He  had  seen  less  of  his  own  country.  He 
looked  at  affairs  with  a  narrower  sweep.  Breese,  to  be 
sure,  often  held  back,  and  would  refuse  to  be  drawn  out  on 
various  subjects,  particularly  if  relating  to  his  individual 
experience.  He  often  shook  his  head  and  said,  "No,  I 
have  no  opinion  on  the  subject ,  Hammersmith :  I  know 
nothing  whatever  about  it,  I  assure  you."  But,  if  Tom 
were  persistent,  he  would  find  that  it  was  but  a  mock 
modesty,  assumed  he  knew  not  why.  He  would  find,  that 
on  any  and  all  the  matters  which  troubled  his  own  3'oung 
soul  in  these  budding  days,  —  be  they  politics  or  religion, 
social  life,  slavery,  the  labor  question, — Breese  had  not 
only  read  and  thought  for  himself,  but  had  almost  invari- 
ably a  definite  personal  view  of  his  own,  which  he  ad- 
vanced with  diffidence  or  emphasis,  as  the  mood  moved 
him.  So  it  came  to  pass  that  Hammersmith  acquired  a 
habit  of  appealing  frequently  to  Breese  for  his  views  on 
this  or  that,  breaking  a  lance  with  him  when  he  could  pro- 
duce one  from  his  armory,  alwa}'S  coming  out  of  a  dis- 
cussion with  an  increased  respect  for  his  manly  friend's 
ability,  and  not  infrequently  carrying  away  food  for 
thought  that  would  last  Iiim  many  days. 

That  Breese  was  an  orphan  —  having  lost  his  father  in 
the  Mexican  war,  when  he  was  a  mere  lad,  and  his 
mother  soon  afterwards  —  Haiamorsmith  soon  learned  in 
their  open-hearted  talks.  That  he  had  roved  over  most 
of  the  United  States,  in  various  ways  and  for  various 
reasons,  since  then,  and  had  largely  prepared  himself  for 
college  by  his  own  unaided  exertions,  with  the  exception 
of  a  year  at  a  popular  school  in  Cincinnati  (for  which  his 
map-selling  tour  of  the  States  had  procured  him  the 
means) ,  Tom  knew  before. 

On  all  else  connected  with  his  life,  Breese  was  singu 
larly  reticent.  Tom  had  shown  a  natural  interest,  on  hear- 
ing that  he  had  lost  his  father  in  the  Mexican  war,  am? 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  261 

told  of  his  own  uncle  Rupert,  who  had  distinguished 
himself  at  Buena  Vista  ;  but  Breese  had  forgotten  even 
the  branch  cf  service  in  which  his  father  had  fought,  and 
it  was  not  a  theme  that  he  caret]  to  dwell  on  long.  lie 
made  nc  secret,  however,  of  the  fact  that  he  intended  to 
devote  his  life  to  the  service  of  his  country,  in  any  capa- 
city which  he  might  find  possible.  His  enthusiasm  on  the 
subject,  and  a  hearty  Roman  love  of  country  which  he  dis- 
played on  man}'  occasions,  when  they  were  upon  the 
discussion  of  republican  institutions  and  the  place  of 
educated  men  in  politics,  marked  him  as  an  exception 
among  university  men  of  the  day.  And  not  only  that, 
but  they  drew  towards  him  the  interested  devotion  of 
Hammersmith,  his  like  in  many  respects,  but  needing  a 
good  generous  blaze  of  conflict,  of  war,  of  disaster,  tc 
fire  the  cumbering  stubble  which  threatened  to  choke  his 
actual  underlying  life  and  principles.  Who  among  all 
the  young  men  of  the  ds.y  could  prophesy  the  blaze  that 
was  to  fire  them  all,  and  burn  itself  deep  into  the  lives  of 
many? 

Breese's  life,  as  he  had  said,  was  essential!}'  different 
from  Hammersmith's.  Poverty,  orphanage,  self-reliance, 
a  deep-seated  ambition,  drawn  from  he  knew  not  what 
source,  had  placed  his  career  before  him  in  the  guise  of  a 
battle,  a  race,  a  rugged  tussle  with  Fate.  He  accepted 
the  issue  :  he  was  read}*  for  the  conflict.  He  made  his  life 
a  daily  battle,  a  daily  renovation,  a  daily  looking  in  the 
cold  eyes  of  Fact.  He  had  learned  earlier  than  most  of 
his  mates,  that  every  man  must  look  within,  and  not  with- 
out, for  strength,  for  power  to  conquer  Destiny.  He 
hated  mere  dilettante  culture.  He  quoted  to  Hammer- 
smith from  Richter,  "  Merely  to  learn  languages  is  to 
throw  away  one's  money  in  buying  beautiful  purses." 
He  did  not  ami  at  being  a  great  scholar,  but  a  good  citi- 
zen, a  great  citizen  if  }*ou  will.  lie  loathed  and  despised 


262  HAMMERSMITH : 

the  nonchalance  and  idleness  which  he  saw  so  common 
about  him.  He  appreciated  that  scholarship,  literature, 
all  gentle  pursuits,  lose  by  a  thinness  of  sympathy  with 
the  world  and  the  peopis ;  and  so  he  kept  up  an  active 
interest  in  sports  and  college-affairs  generally,  as  far  as 
possible,  without  giving  himself  up  to  them ;  looking 
to  them  as  a  means,  not  an  end.  He  felt  that  rowing, 
cricket,  riding,  dancing,  all  were  good  for  hardening  and 
strengthening  the  bod}7,  the  shield  and  breast-plate  of 
the  soul.  But,  as  many  of  his  talks  with  Hammersmith 
showed,  he  knew  how  difficult  it  was  to  keep  the  just  bal- 
ance between  them  ah1 ;  and  he  was  not  surprised,  though 
filled  with  regret,  at  the  extravagance  to  which  each,  in 
turn,  was  carried  in  tho  university.  Above  all,  he  made 
that  hardest  attempt  th&t  man  can  make,  —  to  unite  gen- 
tleness and  strength  of  character,  to  be  strong  without 
being  brutal,  to  be  tender  in  spirit  without  being  weak. 

The  ordinary  college  verdict  was,  "A  consummate 
prig,"  "  A  dig  of  the  most  eirpiatic  kind."  Men  who 
knew  him  better  than  these  light  critics,  who  had  learned 
even  cursorily  his  history  and  his  scope  of  plan,  resented 
the  verdict,  and  declared  him  a  sterling  good  fellow  at 
bottom,  but  as  original  as  sin  itself. 

How  could  a  man  escape  misconstruction,  avoid  ac- 
quiring a  reputation  for  a  certain  asperity  and  selfishness, 
who  was  seen  to  be  setting  up  so  lofty  a  standard  for 
himself,  looking  down  at  the  gay  and  vigorous  life  of  less 
studious  men  as  something  quite  beneath  him,  something 
to  be  studied  and  regarded  in  a  mere  historical  light,  as 
he  might  investigate  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians, 
but  something  in  which  he  did  not  deign  to  take  an  ac- 
tive interest? 

Ah,  Breese,  Breese,  you  may  be  largely  right !  There 
doubtless  is  much  levity  and  shifting  purpc  se,  and  ill- 


HIS  HARVARD   DAYS.  263 

considered  extravagance  about  you,  in  the  class  of  merry, 
luxurious  juniors  to  which  you  belong,  if  not  in  all  the 
classes  ;  and  you,  perhaps,  would  include  in  your  sweep- 
ing cry  of  "  screeching  "  the  innocent  recreations  of  the 
Glee  Club,  the  Pierian,  and  .kindred  musical  societies, 
But  do  not  press  the  point  too  hard  in  your  scholastic 
severity  of  mood.  Go  to !  Shall  all  the  tender  memories 
that  cluster  about  the  old  college  glees  and  serenades, 
rehearsals,  and  enthusiastic  concerts,  be  set  down  as  so 
much  idiotic  sentiment  to  be  torn  up  root  and  branch? 
What  old  Glee  Club  man  would  giva  them  up  at  the  price 
of  much  added  glory  in  the  field  of  scholarship  or  of 
sports !  How  across  the  intervening  years  of  war,  of 
change,  of  success,  defeat,  grief,  and  joy,  come  trooping 
the  notes  of  that  earlier  music,  which  sang  itself  so  into 
our  young  boyish  lives,  that  its  tones  can  never  be  quite 
drowned  cut ! 

You  remember,  Philippus.  You  remember  the  first 
timid  piping  up  of  your  basso  prof  undo  at  your  initiation 
into  the  club-room,  where  Hammersmith  has  just  made  his 
entrance  ;  the  careful  iteration  of  rehearsal  and  drill  under 
the  eyes  and  far  too  acute  ears  of  Barnwell,  the  famous 
leader;  then  the  first  crowded  concert  in  Lyceum  Hah1, 
with  your  sisters  and  cousins,  and  the  sisters  and  cousins 
of  somebody  else,  ranged  in  bewildering  nearness  to  the 
low  stage  on  which  you  stood  ;  the  echoing  rounds  of  ap- 
plause ;  the  intermission,  during  which  you  sauntered 
about  among  the  audience,  which  seemed  more  like  a  cosey 
family-party  than  a  critical  concourse,  and  graduates  and 
ex-members  of  the  club  congratulated  you  on  the  even- 
ing's success,  and  somebody  looked  up  at  you  with 
bright  eyes  that  were  extremely  eloquent,  and  put  out  a 
small  gloved  hand  for  your  brown  boating-man's  paw  to 
viosu  upon ;  and  the  pot-pourri  of  comic  and  jolly  college- 
*Bongs  at  the  close,  when  Pickman  of  the  Pierians  camo 


264  HAMMERSMITH : 

up  with  his  banjo,  and  there  was  a  call  of  "Barnwell, 
Barnwell!"  "Fay,  Fay!"  and  one  favorite  song  after 
another  was  given  in  great  rattling  chorus,  the  audience 
shaken  to  convulsive  merriment  by  the  comical  medley, 
till  "  Fair  Harvard  "  caine  to  add  a  quieting  finale  to  it 
all,  —  what  later  scene  of  musical  splendor,  centennial 
outburst,  or  triumph  of  Wagner,  can  compare  with  the 
simpler  pleasures  and  easier  ovations  of  those  early  days  ? 
Then,  too,  there  were  the  trips  to  Worcester  and  New- 
buiyport,  and  hospitable  New  Bedford ;  the  serenades, 
when  you  and  your  frier ds  packed  j'ourselves  into  coaches, 
and  went  singing  your  way  to  Brookline,  or  Jamaica  Plain, 
or  Watertown,  gathering  there  noiselessly  on  the  lawn, 
below  some  sleeping  beauty's  window,  and  waking  her 
with  the  mighty  concerted  sneeze  ("  Hish,  hash,  hosh!  " 
in  triple  unison)  which  is  the  night-alarum  of  the  club. 
A  light  is  struck  in  a  room  above  ;  the  blinds  are  cautiously 
opened  ;  there  is  a  slamming  of  doors ;  and,  as  you  are 
ending  your  first  melting  serenade,  paterfamilias,  with 
evidences  of  hasty  toilet,  and  a  rather  forced  frankness 
of  welcome,  throws  the  hall-doors  wide  open,  and  appears 
in  a  flood  of  light,  saying,  "  Will  you  walk  in,  gentle- 
men?" You  file  in  from  the  darkness,  somebody  intro- 
ducing 3rou  as  you  pass  the  host,  and  find  a  neat  little 
spread  in  the  dining-room.  You  fall  to  for  a  while,  and 
pledge  each  other  and  paterfamilias,  who  is  very  glad  to 
see  you,  gentlemen ;  and  won't  you  sing  something  in- 
side? And  you  give  him  a  great  booming  chorus  or  two, 
the  noise  of  which  reaches  to  the  stables,  and  startles  the 
horses  of  your  comfortable  host ;  or  you  adjourn  to  the 
parlor,  hastily  lighted,  and  Kej^es  sits  down  at  the  piano, 
and  accompanies  himself  in  a  solo,  singing  with  a  particu- 
lar distinctness,  as  he  knows,  from  experience,  that  there 
is  probably  a  pretty  little  figure  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
"•  all  in  white  like  a  saint,"  listening  to  the  music  below. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  2C5 

There  is  more  glee- singing,  another  toast  as  you  leave, 
and,  shaking  hands,  you  pass  out  upon  the  lawn  again, 
turning,  perhaps  quite  unconsciously,  and  glancing  up  the 
stairs,  as  you  go.  And  with  a  new  energy,  feeling  fully 
the  romance  of  the  situation,  you  break  into  another  sere- 
nade: possibly  the  blinds  are  opened  suddenly,  and  a 
bouquet  is  thrown  out  for  which  you  scramble  excitedly 
in  the  darkness,  leaving  your  song  to  sing  itself  as  it  may ; 
and  then  you  close  with  a  tender  parting,  —  the  Eisen- 
hofer  Serenade  perhaps :  — 

"  Slumber  sweetly,  dearest,  close  tliy  weary  eyes; 
Guardian  angels  round  thee  hover  till  the  morning's  rise: 

Then,  my  love,  on  airy  pinions, 
Bear  thy  heart,  in  transport  bound, 

To  its  own  dominions, 
Where  no  earthly  care  is  found, 
Where  no  earthly  care  is  found. 
Maiden,  sleep,  sleep,  in  peace." 

With  such  romantic  words,  and  a  rosebud  in  your  button- 
hole, you  move  off  over  the  grounds,  and  regain  your 
coach,  drawn  up  at  the  lodge. 

Yes,  and  the  moonlight  evenings,  when  the  Glee  Club 
adjourns  to  the  quadrangle,  and  the  windows  are  crowded 
with  applauding  listeners,  and  the  student  returning  from 
Boston  hears  the  great  swelling  chorus  long  before  he  has 
entered  the  elm-shadowed  grounds.  Class-day  evening, 
too,  with  the  songs  from  the  band-stand,  the  club  largely 
increased  by  graduate  members,  and  yet,  perhaps  in  a 
spirit  of  envy,  stopping  its  music  to  shout,  "One,  two, 
three,  Maitland  !  "  "  One,  two,  three,  Bowditch  !  "  as  it 
misses  a  prominent  singer,  and  spies  him  in  some  cur- 
tained window,  enjoying  a  tete-a-tete,  unusual,  pave  en 
these  occasions  of  privilege.  "Well,  it  may  be  all  non- 
^  sense,  all  levity,  vanity,  and  vexation  of  spirit,  to  a  man 
of  Breese's  temperament,  more's  the  pity !  It  may  not 


266  HAMMERSMITH : 

tend  to  the  especial  training  of  philosophers  and  states- 
men ;  it  may  not  advance  a  man  on  the  rank-list :  but  who 
would  banish  music  from  the  college  walks  and  halls,  or 
say  that  the  authorities  should  imitate  the  grim  old  Puritan 
fathers,  and  put  their  taboo  on  the  Glee  Club,  and  many 
another  of  like  character?  —  the  Harvard  Glee  Club, 
which  Hammersmith  and  some  of  his  friends  had  entered 
at  the  beginning  of  junior  year,  graduating  with  due 
honors  from  their  class  club,  which  had  led  a  decidedly 
wheezy  existence  for  some  months. 

No,  no :  those  were  joyous  episodes  in  cloister  life ;  and 
whether  he  soared  mightily,  and  reaped  abundant  ap- 
plause as  a  great  tenor  of  his  day,  or  pounded  and  rumbled 
away  in  unappreciated  bass,  many  a  man  looks  back  upon 
his  membership  of  the  Glee  Club,  with  its  rehearsals,  its 
merry  concerts  and  serenades,  as  yielding  him  more  solid 
pleasure  and  more  rational  amusement  than  any  society 
in  all  the  university  roll. 


HIS  HARVABD  DAYS.  267 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

A  DANGEROUS   SIDE-SADDLE. 

"  El  mal  que  de  tu  boca  sale,  en  tu  seno  se  cae."  —  FROM  THE  SPANISH. 
"Every  one  is  the  son  of  his  own  works." — CKBTANTES. 

I  DON'T  see  why  a  man  wants  to  be  such  a  fool,  to 
refuse  to  row  when  the  crew  needs  him  so  wofully ! " 
said  Albemarle,  returning   from  the  boat-houses,  with  a 
number  of  men  who  had  been  down  to  see  the  last  row  of 
the  season. 

"Especially  as  there  is  not  the  least  occasion  for  his 
refusing,"  continued  Freemantle.  "  He  spends  twice  as 
much  time  with  his  horse,  and  that  howling  glee-club,  and 
at  cricket,  as  he  need  give  to  the  boat.  It's  a  rattling 
.fine  nag  of  his,  though ;  and  I  don't  blame  him  for  wish- 
ing to  get  astride  of  Mm  whenever  he  can." 

""Well,  now,  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Pinckney, 
unwinding  a  blue  silk  handkerchief  from  his  throat,  "  I 
don't  blame  Tom  in  the  least.  He  had  a  mighty  rough 
deal  last  term,  fellows,  with  that  infernal  Tufton  scrape 
and  his  faculty  row  !  And  I  don't  think  it  strange  that 
he  should  feel  considerably  cut  up  about  it,  and  wish  to 
forget  that  he  ever  saw  an  oar." 

"  But  what's  the  use  of  venting  his  spite  on  the  uni- 
versity boat  and  the  pride  we  all  feel  in  it,  simply  because 
he's  had  a  rough  time  with  Tuflon?  " 
,'  "  Oh !  I  don't  pretend  to  know  what's  going  on  in  his 
mind,"  said  Pinckney.  "  He  may  have  reasons  that  we 
ion't  know  any  thing  about.  But  the  faculty  forbade 


268  HAMMERSMITH: 

his  rowing  last  term,  you  know ;  and  I  don't  wonder  he 
feels  sore  about  it.  I  think  any  of  us  would  have  felt  the 
same." 

"  'Twas  mighty  funny  about  that  faculty  trouble,  by 
the  way,"  said  Albemarle.  "Did  he  ever  find  out  who 
played  him  that  low  trick  of  informing  on  him  ?  ' ' 

"  Not  as  far  as  I  know,"  answered  Pinckney.  "  That's 
another  thing  too  !  I've  heard  him  and  Goldie  speak  of 
it  several  times ;  and  they  are  both  pop-sure  that  some 
fellow  here  in  Cambridge  must  have  been  at  the  bottom 
of  it :  who  it  is,  and  how  he  could  have  communicated  so 
quickly  with  Tufton,  they  can't  make  out.  There's  no 
doubt  about  the  note  being  written  Ly  Tufton,  none 
whatever.  I've  seen  it ;  and  }rou  knovr  Tufton  had  a 
way  of  crossing  his  t's  that  nobody  could  possibly  imi- 
tate. Goldie  and  Hammersmith  are  perfectly  certain  that 
the  note,  which  was  signed  simply  X,  was  written  by 
him." 

"  Mighty  curious,  any  way !  "  said  Freemantle. 

"So  you  can't  vonder  that  Ton  feels  a  good  deal 
wounded  at  the  idea  of  any  fellow's  going  back  on  him 
in  this  way,  '  stabbing  him  in  the  dark,'  as  he  says.  By 
Jove,  I  should  like  to  see  any  man  attack  him  openly  !  — 
that's  ah1  I  have  to  say."  And  the  high-spirited  Pinckney 
snapped  his  blue  handkerchief  viciously  in  the  face  of  a 
small  freshman  whom  they  met,  and  in  dangerous  near- 
ness to  the  eyes  of  the  young  fellow. 

"  He  must  be  a  mighty  low-lived  fellow,  whoever  he 
is  !  "  said  Albemarle.  "  I've  no  great  friendship  for  Ham- 
mersmith, especially  now  that  he's  so  thick  with  that 
reformer  Breese ;  but  I  like  to  see  a  man  treated  like  a 
gentleman.  —  And  you're  right,  Pinck :  a  man  as  high- 
strung  as  Hammersmith  is  not  to  be  blamed  for  feeling 
cut  by  such  treatment.  I  didn't  know  before,  that  he 
suspected  anybod}1-  cut  here  of  being  in  league  witli 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  209 

Tufton.  "What  a  Wight  that  man  :vas.  "by  the  way, 
follows!" 

"Halloo,  George,"  said  Pinckney,  as  Golclic,  swinging 
along  at  a  great  stride  with  McGregor,  was  passing  them 
on  the  way  to  the  quadrangle.  ""What's  your  hurry? 
"We  want  to  speak  to  yon." 

"Speak  quick,  then!  Dinner  in  five  minutes!  Must 
change  to  the  buff  before  then."  And  the  two  slowed 
clown,  and  walked  with  the  rest. 

"We  want  to  know  candidly  how  the  crew's  getting 
on,"  said  Pinckney. 

"Oh!  is  that  all?  — Come  along,  Mac."  And  they 
started  ahead. 

"  No  ;  but  hold  on  !  "  said  Pinckney.  Ar.d  he  pounced 
upon  his  stalwart  chum,  still  breathing  rapidly  from  his 
last  severe  row  of  the  fall,  and  detained  him,  with  an 
arm  about  his  neck.  "  Xow  I've  got  you,  old  fellow. 
Tell  us  truly.  How  is  Ladbroke  getting  on  ? ' ' 

"  Mac,  are  }'ou  going  to  see  me  throttled  in  this  way, 
and  l>y  such  a  devil  of  a  giant  ? ' '  And  he  made  a  pre- 
tence of  tiying  to  get  away.  "How's  he  getting  on? 
"Well,  if  I  must  tell,  he's  getting  on  his  coat  about 
now  —  as  near  aa  I  can  calculate." 

"  Come,  ccme,  tell  a  fc'lo'r !    How  is  he  going  to  pull  ?  " 

"  "With  his  hands  and  arms,  I  imagine :  some  leg- 
muscle  too.  —  Eh,  Mac?"  said  Goldie,  with  a  twinkle. 

"  But  has  he  any  science?  "  asked  Pinckney. 

"Best  boxer  in  college  by  all  odds,  I  should  say, 
present  company  out  of  the  ring,  of  course." 

"  But  how  does  he  do  in  the  boat?  " 

"  Obeys  orders,  like  the  rest  of  us  ;  doesn't  he.  Mac?" 

"Well,  has  he  any  staying-power,  yo\\  reprobate?" 
pleaded  Pinckncy  in  despair. 

"He  stays  about  as  long  as  the  rest  of  us,  and  then 
ue  runs  away,"  answered  Goldie  ;  and,  suiting  the  action 


270  HAMMERSMITH: 

fx>  the  word,  he  dropped  his  head  suddenly,  broke  away 
from  his  chum,  and,  running  off  with  McGregor,  vaulted 
the  college  fence  lightly,  and  made  for  the  quadrangle. 

"  By  Jove  !  you  can't  make  much  out  of  a  boating-man 
when  he  don't  want  to  tell  3'ou,"  said  Freemantle. 
"Goldie's  in  a  merry  mood  to-night.  It's  all  right,  I 
think,  or  he'd  hardly  be  so  jolly." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!  "  said  Pinckney.  "You  can't  tell 
a  thing  by  his  manner :  George  is  too  old  a  fox  for  that. 
Heavens !  he  told  me  after  Worcester,  last  year,  tLat  be 
knew,  three  days  before  tli3  race,  that  we  were  going  to 
lose  it ;  but  you  know  how  cheerful  he  looked  all  the 
tune.  He's  the  best  stuff  for  a  boating-man  that  I  ever 
laid  eyes  on :  by  Jove,  he  is  !  " 

"  Is  Albertsou  really  injured  by  tie  Worcester  race?  " 
asked  Albemarle. 

"Afraid  he  is,"  answered  Pinckney.  " Doctor's  for- 
bidden his  rowing  any  more,  at  any  rate ;  and  he  looks 
pretty  slim,  doesn't  he?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  who  ever  thought  that  Ladbroke  would  suc- 
ceed in  getting  a  seat  in  the  'Varsity !  Who  was  it  that 
brought  him  out?" 

"  Oh !  Mac,  as  usual,"  answered  Pinck'iey.  "  He  has 
his  eyes  on  every  fellow  in  Cambridge,  I  believe,  ready 
to  pounce  on  arrybody  in  case  o.'  ctnergencj*.  And  Lad- 
broke  is  not  such  a  bad  oar,  either.  He  rowed  to  the 
[sle  of  Shoals  in  vacation,  with  Clifford,  you  know ;  and 
his  boxing  has  kept  him  in  pretty  fair  condition  all  along." 

The  young  men  talked  on  thus  till  the}7  reached  the 
quadrangle,  discussing  the  boating  prospects,  wondering 
if  Ladbroke  could  be  made  to  work,  and  inquiring  of 
each  other  concerning  the  progress  on  a  new  shell  which 
had  just  been  ordered. 

For  Ladbroke,  heavy  and  lethargic  though  he  was,  given 
to  boxing,  horse-racing,  card-playing,  and  carousing  with 


HIS   HABVAED  DAYS.  271 

the  wildest  spirits  of  the  university,  had,  nevertheless. 
a  tremendous  amount  of  muscle,  which  the  Argus-eyed 
McGregor,  purveyor  of  mighty  oarsmen  for  the  'Varsity, 
had  made  up  his  mind  could  just  as  well  be  captured,  and 
made  to  work  for  the  glory  of  the  university,  as  allowed 
to  waste  itself  in  riotous  living  and  idleness.  Ham- 
mersmith had  dropped  from  the  crew ;  and  Albertson, 
taking  his  place  only  a  few  days  before  the  "Worcester 
race,  had  been  so  far  injured  by  the  great  strain  of  that 
struggle,  as  to  be  forbidden  to  row  by  his  physician.  Mc- 
Gregor, ever  alert,  had  at  once  seized  upon  Ladbroke ; 
and,  by  various  wheedling  processes  best  known  to  cap- 
tains of  boat-crews,  had  persuaded  him  that  undjing 
fame,  and  a  paradise  of  pleasure,  awaited  him,  if  he  would 
only  consent  to  lend  his  valuable  aid  in  the  'Varsity. 
And  although  his  attendance  at  chapel  did  not  show  that 
regularity  of  worship  which  Alma,  Mater  demands  of  her 
children ;  and  a  fondness  for  the  neighboring  race-track 
at  Brighton,  with  various  other  dubious  influences,  ren- 
dered it  not  unlikely  that  his  university  career  might  come 
to  an  abrupt  termination  some  fine  day, — he  was,  neverthe- 
less, McGregor's  only  hope;  and  the  croakers  were  si- 
lenced. McGregor  stuck  to  his  man  as  a  ward-politician 
hangs  to  the  newly-made  voter  on  election  day,  or  as  the 
trainer  (in  those  stables  which  Ladbroke  was  fond  of  fre- 
quenting) stays  by  the  racer  under  his  charge,  watching 
him  day  and  night,  looking  after  his  exercise,  his  diet,  his 
out-goings  and  his  in-comings.  Already  Ladbroke,  like 
man}'  another  man  of  his  nature  and  tendencies  who  has 
gone  through  the  same  hard  training,  was  beginning  to 
show  the  good  results  of  the  new  order  of  things ;  and 
Goldie's  manner  this  afternoon  proceeded  from  a  real 
satisfaction,  which  he  and  McGregor  had  just  been  dis- 
cussing, at  the  good  prospects  for  next  year's  races. 
"Come  up,  fellows,  won't  you?"  asked  Albemarle. 


272  HAMMERSMITH: 

"  The  crew  dines  before  the  rest  of  us,  you  know.  We've 
a  half-hour  yet."  And  the  three  sauntered  up  to  Albe- 
m&rle's  quarters,  just  outside  the  quadrangle. 

"  "We  were  talking  about  Hammersmith  and  Breese," 
said  Albemarle.  "Hang  me,  if  I  can  understand  the 
fascination  about  that  man  Breese  !  He's  about  the  only 
man  in  the  class  that  I  can't  make  out.  The  way  that 
he  sailed  into  everybody  and  every  thing  in  that  speech 
of  his  in  '  The  Forum,'  two  years  ago,  was  enough  to 
disgust  a  fellow.  You  gave  him  a  mighty  good  reply, 
Pinckney,  —  a  mighty  good  reply !  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Pinckney.  "I  didn't  think  much 
of  what  I  was  saying :  I  only  remember  that  I  was  con- 
foundedly mad  at  his  manner,  and  his  way  of  talking 
down  at  us." 

"He's  an  infernal  reformer!"  chimed  in  Freemantle. 
"  He  wants  to  take  the  world  all  to  pieces,  and  try  to  fix 
it  up  a  little  better  than  before,  with  '  J.  Breese,  fecit,'  in 
one  ccrner." 

"  That's  what  takes  me  !  "  said  Pinckney.  "  By  Jove ! 
the  worll  has  got  on  pretty  well  for  a  few  thousand  years, 
without  going  to  smash !  What's  the  need  of  bothering 
your  head  about  notions  and  isms,  and  beggarly  reforms ! 
Give  me  a  horse  and  a  gun,  and  a  good  equare  meal  twice 
a  day,  and  I'll  let  the  Devil  take  your  theories  and  crotch- 
ets !" 

"  It's  all  very  well  to  talk  of  having  your  horse  and  your 
gun,  and  good  square  meals,  Pinck ;  but  there  you  are 
hitting  on  one  of  the  very  problems  of  the  age,  — how  af- 
fairs may  be  so  arranged  that  everybody  may  have  enough 
to  live  on, — perhaps  not  a  horse  and  a  gun  to  every  man, 
but  a  fowl  in  every  pcr^aat's  pot  at  least  once  a  week," 
said  Albemarle. 

"Oh,  that's  no  problem!"  said  the  wealthy  young 
Southerner,  who  had  a  stable  full  of  horses  in  South  Caro- 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  273 

Una,  waiting  for  him  to  come  and  ride  them.  "  Let  every 
man  do  his  work,  by  Jove !  squarely  and  honestly,  and 
there'll  be  an  end  to  that  question.  It's  the  fearful  idle- 
ness of  people,  that  makes  that  problem,  as  you  call  it, 
take  rank  at  all." 

"That's  so!"  said  Freemantle,  rolling  a  cigarette. 
"  And  when  you  say,  '  work,'  Pinck,  you  don't  mean  that 
everybody  should  get  to  work  with  his  own  hands,  of 
course,  but  should  organize  and  direct  others  if  he  can ; 
that  is,  if  he  has  others  that  he  can  direct." 

"  Precisely,  by  Jove  !  "  said  Pinckney.  "  Look  at  our 
negroes !  The}*  are  happy,  they  are  contented,  they  have 
a  fowl  in  their  pots  whenever  they  want.  And  you  can 
be  pretty  sure  that  I  don't  work,  or  intend  to  work,  ex- 
cept in  directing  these  negroes,  and  making  two  cotton- 
bolls  grow  where  one  grew  before.  I  sh?,ll  be  a  benefactor 
to  the  human  race,  eh,  on  the  old  definition?  " 

"  "Well,  I  don't  intend  to  discuss  the  slavery  question 
with  you,  Pinckney,"  said  Albemarle.  "  You  know  where 
I  stand  on  that  question.  We've  had  enough  talks, — 
you  and  Trimble  and  I.  I  only  hope  to  Heaven  you 
may  never  find  slavery  a  white  elephant  on  your  hands ; 
that's  all!" 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  that,  my  dear  fe/low.  "We 
know  which  side  of  our  bread  is  buttered.  But  that's 
neither  here  nor  there.  "What  I  object  to  is  tae  way  that 
a  man  like  Breese  goes  about  trying  to  find  flaws  in  every 
thing,  and  trying  to  patch  up  a  new  religion  and  a  new 
style  of  government,  a  new  society  and  a  new  university. " 

"Yes,  there's  a  deused  too  much  of  a  —  what-dc-ye- 
call-it,  in  the  world  ;  a  "  —  said  Freemantle. 

"Exactly!  it  only  depends  upon  what  3-011  call  it," 
said  Albemarle. 

"  "Why,  introspection,"  said  Freemantle,  "  too  much  in« 
trospection,  you  know,  and  all  chat  sort  of  thing.'* 


274  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  I've  no  doubt  of  it,"  answered  Pinckney,  "  though  I 
don't  the  least  know  what  you  mean.  But,  by  Jove  !  just 
look  at  it !  What  is  there  that  people  are  not  pottering 
with,  from  religion  down  to  the  thickness  of  a  fellow's 
shoes  ?  Your  old  .Boston  here  is  the  hotbed  of  half  the 
troubles  too." 

"  Of  course,"  began  Albemarle,  "  there  art  some  very 
extravagant  schemes  started ;  but ' '  — 

"Extravagant!  I  should  say  there  were.  Abolition, 
cracked- wheat,  mesmerism,  come-outers,  animal-magnet- 
ism, non-resistance,  woman's  rights,"  continued  Pinck- 
ney, droirng  out  the  words  in  sing-song,  camp-meeting 
fashion.  "Good  Lord!  Will  they  let  nothing  rest? 
What  do  you  think  happened  to  me  only  yesterday,  —  no, 
day  before?  I  was  rushing  out  of  the  quadrangle,  in  a 
great  hurry  to  get  to  Boston,  when  I  ran  almost  plump 
into  a  tall,  gaunt  specimen  of  the  genus  femina,  looking 
at  the  buildings  through  a  ferocious  pair  of  spectacles,  and 
grasping  an  umbrella.  '  I  beg  pardon,  madam,'  said  I. 
—  'Young  man,'  said  she  in  a  tremendous  voice,  'do 
you  know  where  }rou  are  going?'  —  'Certainly,'  said  I. 
'  Fir  going  to  Boston.'  — '  No,  j-ou're  not.  You're  going 
to  the  bottom!  e AS  pit !  '  she  shouted :  and  handing  me 
a  little  book,  which  I  have  never  dared  open,  she  said, 
'  Read  that :  '  and  I  ran  off  like  a  shot.  Gad !  I've 
dreamed  of  my  grandmother  ever  since." 

"  How  did  she  find  out  so  much  about  you,  Pinck?  " 
asked  Freemantle. 

"  Oh,  gammon  !  —  I  remember  now  :  she  asked  me  if 
my  name  w^s  Freemantle,"  said  Pinckney. 

"  What  did  3-011  tell  her?  "  asked  Freemantle,  laughing 

"  I  said  it  was  not ;  Freemantle  had  just  been  expelled. 
But  I  promised  to  see  that  you  received  the  book."  And 
diving  into  a  pocket,  he  pulled  out  a  small  folded  pam- 
phlet, and  handed  it  to  Freemantle. 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  275 

"  I  think  you  fellows  each  deserve  a  separate  copy," 
said  Albemarle.  "  Come,  let's  go  to  dinner." 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  Fayerweathers'  to-morrow  even- 
ing? "  asked  Freemantle,  as  they  went  down  stairs. 

"I  don't  know.  Why,  it's  A.4.  night,  isn't  it?" 
asked  Albemarle. 

"  No :  supper  is  postponed  till  Honda}*  night,  so  Ham- 
mer smith  says." 

"  What  is  it  at  the  Fayerweathers'  ?  I  forget  what  they 
do  at  these  Cambridge  toots,"  said  Albemarle. 

"  German  at  eleven,  I  believe,"  answered  Freemantle. 
"Big  time,  I  hear:  Jack  Fayerweather's  freedom  birth- 
day, you  know !  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  I'll  tcddle  up  for  a  while.  But  no  Ger- 
man for  me,  if  I  know  myself,"  said  Albemarle ;  and  the 
young  men  went  in  to  dinner. 

Meanwhile,  the  two  men  so  roundly  abused  in  the  above 
conversation  —  Breese  and  Hammersmith  —  were  indul- 
ging in  exercise  quite  common  to  the  two  in  these  crisp 
autumn  days.  Breese  was  swinging  along  the  country 
roads  back  of  Cambridge  in  a  rapid  constitutional,  brand- 
ishing his  well-worn  oak  stick  the  while ;  Hammersmith, 
cantering  gloriously  through  grass}*  lanes  naming  with 
changing  foliage,  on  the  back  of  the  noble  bay  horse  left 
him  by  Penhallow,  which  was  kept  polished  to  the  sheen 
of  satin  by  the  expectant  grcoms  of  Windgall,  the  stable- 
man. 

Why  should  Tom  go  cantering  off  by  himself,  like  a 
miserable  old  bachelor,  when  he  might  have  a  fair  com- 
panion, on  a  side-saddle,  riding  at  his  elbow,  and  dou- 
bling the  zest  of  this  grandest  of  pastimes  ?  Why^  if  Miss 
Darby  were  so  fond  of  riding,  and  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  securing  the  country,  for  a  whole  vear  now,  with  a 
groom  in  her  train, — why  should  not  Tom  relieve  the 
prim  menial,  and  himself  act  as  squire,  now  that  he  bad  a 
good  mount? 


276  HAMMEKSMITH: 

Hammersmith  had  not  asked  himself  these  questions 
many  tunes,  you  may  be  sure,  before  he  had  decided 
unanimously  that  knight-errantry  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury was  an  anachronism,  a  humbug,  and  the  office  of 
squire  and  groom-in-waiting  infinitely  preferable  in  every 
way ;  so  that  many  a  sunny  afternoon,  when  hi  was  not 
practising  for  a  cricket-match,  or  otherwise  detained,  he 
had  despatched  a  brief  note  to  Miss  Darby  by  the  cnini- 
present  3roungster  Glue,  —  runner  of  errands,  and  mender 
of  broken  furniture  by  aid  of  effective  glue-pot, — and 
shortly  afterwards  followed  his  note  on  the  back  of  high- 
stepping  Baldy. 

If  Miss  Darby  could  accept  his  invitation,  well  and 
good :  he  joined  her,  and  they  were  galloping  away  in 
remarkably  quick  metre.  If  not,  well  and  good  also  :  hs 
sprang  into  saddle  again,  and  went  for  a  spin  by  himself, 
consoling  himself  for  her  absence  by  putting  his  horse 
through  a  whole  series  of  movements  and  tricks  to  which 
he  had  been  training  him,  and  hoping  for  better  luck  next 
time. 

This  afternoon  she  could  go.  Tom  met  Glue,  on  his 
return  from  Miss  Darby's,  whistling  a  street-boy's  air  as 
he  drummed  the  casual  fence.  He  stepped  to  the  curb- 
stone as  Tom  was  cantering  bj^,  and  swung  his  battered 
cap. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Ham-smith!  She's  a-going,  I  guess. 
My  c}Te,  but  her  horse  be  a-stepping  about  lively  !  "  And 
Hammersmith,  without  pulling  rein  for  the  small  messen- 
ger, nodded,  and  dashed  past.  Baldy  is  feeling  his  oats 
to-day. 

MissOarby  was  just  about  starting  off  by  herself  when 
the  young  glueman  arrived  with  Tom's  note.  She  was 
already  mounted,  and  walking  her  horse  along  the  semi- 
mroi  street,  when  Hammersmith  came  up. 

""Which  way  to-day,  Miss  Darby?"  he  asked,  after 
lifting  his  hat,  and  glancing  at  her  saddle-girths. 


HIS  HAKVAUD  DAYS.  277 

"  Where  you  will.  I  think  the  Belmont  road  will  be 
pretty  to-day,  the  woods  are  so  fine !  "  And  they  turned 
their  horses'  heads  westward,  and  were  soon  past  Mount 
Auburn)  giving  their  aniraals  a  looser  rein  as  they  left  the 
thickly  settled  parts  of  the  town. 

"We  have  no  intention  of  following  them  along  their 
winding  way  this  lovety  afternoon,  or  of  setting  down  all 
the  idle  speeches  and  enthusiastic  enjoyment  of  the  two 
lovers  of  horses,  —  lovers  of  horses  like  yourself,  dear 
Philippus. 

It  is  a  dangerous  pastime,  this  of  riding,  none  more 
dangerous ;  not  in  the  earthly  sense  of  a  spill,  or  of 
broken  bones,  my  dear  madam,  rolling  in  your  coupe 
elaborately  padded,  but  in  the  view  of  far  more  subtle, 
invisible  dangers  that  delight  to  pounce  on  bounding 
youth  and  beauty,  torturing  them  with  exquisite  pleasure. 
Perhaps  under  the  critic  eyes  of  the  public,  ogling  in 
Rotten  Row,  Central  Park,  Beacon  Street,  these  dangers 
may  not  ohow  their  heads,  or  let  the  whirring  of  their 
-ight  wings  be  heard.  There  is  an  evil-eye  which  blights 
many  such  a  tender  creature,  frowns  originality  and  joy- 
ousness  into  dull  conformity,  and  would  look  upon  such 
riding  as  this  of  Tom's  and  Miss  Darby's  more  in  the 
light  of  a  pageant  and  a  spectacle  than  as  a  bit  of  romance 
bright  with  risk.  But  riding  in  country  lanes,  with  the 
freshness  of  youth  on  the  cheek,  anc5  all  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  Nature  starting  the  ready  flood  of  young  feelings 
in  rosy-rippling  currents,  —  tell  me,  all  ye  mediaeval  men 
and  women  who  remember  your  youth,  and  who  ever 
mounted  a  horse,  did  the  roguish  little  god  with  the 
blinded  eyes,  who  shoots  regardless  of  aim,  evec  find  you 
mere  vulnerable  than  when  thu«  riding  ?  No  matter  where 
it  may  be,  along  the  hedgerows  and  velvet  turf  of  Eng- 
land, trim  vine-edged  lanes  of  France,  a  rough  New- 
England  pike  flankad  w:th  golden  woods,  or  dear  brown 


278  HAMMERSMITH  : 

hills  of  California  looking  seaward,  or  down  a  royal  purple 
valley,  — tell  me  if  it  is  not  true.  Toll  me,  Fhilippus — • 
but  no  !  I  will  not  ask  3'ou  to  open  that  page  again. 

They  were  mounting  a  hill  in  Balmont,  and  Mr.  Tom 
was  just  beginning  to  say  something,  in  his  enthusiastic 
way,  about  wishing  that  he  were  a  groom  or  a  jocke3r,  he 
was  so  fond  of  horses,  when  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  — 

"  Halloo,  here's  Breese  !  "  as  they  came  unexpectedly 
upon  the  great  scholar,  turning  into  their  road  from  a  side- 
lane. 

Tom  involuntarily  drew  in  his  horse  a  bit ;  but,  seeing 
Miss  Darby  cantering  ahead,  he  let  him  out,  and  they 
bowed  to  Breese  as  they  passed. 

"  Why,  do  you  know  him?  "  asked  Hammersmith. 

"  Oh,  I've  met  him  !  "  she  answered.  "  He  is  reading 
some  Latin  plays  with  my  fatlier,  you  know  ;  and  he  was 
introduced  to  me  one  evening  by  father.  Isn't  this  a 
superb  view?"  she  added  quickly.  "There  is  Scmer- 
ville,  and  Boston,  and  Bunker- Hill  Monument,  and  "  — 

"Breese  is  a  mighty  queer  feUow,  Miss  Darby, — ex- 
cuse my  interrupting  you,  —  he's  the  fellow  I  waa  telling 
you  about  the  other  day,  that  wouldn't  go  into  societj-, 
and  thinks  it's  all  flummery  and  nonsense,  and  spoke 
about  inventing  the  brass  man  that  I  told  you  of." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  she. 

"  I  didn't  tell  you  hie  name,  as  I  didn't  know  you  had 
ever  met  him.  Did  you  know  that  he  was  at  Fresh  Pond 
that  horrid  day  in  freshman  3Tcar?  " 

"  I  heard  afterwards  that  he  was." 

"  That  was  an  awful  day,  wasn't  it?  "  said  Tom,  tr  k- 
ing  his  left  foot  out  of  the  stirrup,  and  t-irring  towarda 
her.-  "  Miss  Darby,  you  can't  imagine  how  a  fellow 
"eels,  I  suppose,  when  he's  been  so  near  drowning  a 
voung  lady  as  that  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  I  can.     But  here's  a  lovely  piece 


HIS  HABVABD  DAYS.  .  279 

of  road  :  I  challenge  you  to  race  as  far  as  that  oak-tree ;  " 
and,  without  further  ado,  they  were  rattling  over  the  hard, 
rocky  road,  till  Tom,  quiie  ungallantly,  came  out  a  length 
or  so  ahead  at  the  tree. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Miss  Darby,  drawing  a  long  breath,  and 
putting  a  hand  to  her  beaver.  "That  was  grand!  I 
yield  the  palru.  Beppo  and  I  are  not  equal  to  you.  —  But 
we  don't  care,  do  we,  Beppo?  " 

"Your  saddle  is  loose.  Let  me  tighten  the  girths; 
there  ! ' '  And  she  was  off,  and  quickly  mounted  again ; 
and  chey  headed  for  home. 

"If  I  could  only  live  in  the  saddle,  Miss  Darby!" 
Tom  exclaimed  impulsively,  on  the  way  home.  "I'm 
never  so  happy  as  when  on  horseback,  are  you?  " 

"N-no:  I'm  very,  very  fend  of  it.  But  you  would 
grow  tired  of  it,  if  you  had  to  ride,"  said  Miss  Darby. 

"  I  don't  think  so.  Why  are  the  middle  ages  dead  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  with  many  a  philippic  young  man  before 
him.  "  How  jolly  it  must  have  been  to  go  riding  about, 
with  a  squire  cr  two,  and  a  sturdy  old  horse  under  3*011, 
li  ving  off  the  fat  of  the  land,  tilting  with  any  fellow  you 
came  across,  and  succoring  unhappy  young  parties  right 
and  left!" 

"It  must  be  nice  to  try  to  cuccor  unhappy  3'cung 
parties,  as  you  sa}-,"  Miss  Darby  added  quietly.  But  he 
was  ctooping  to  turn  a  stirrup,  and  did  not  see  the  look 
that  she  gave  bim- 

.  ' '  Every  thing  is  so  cut  and  dried  nowadays !  ' '  Tom 
continued.  "That's  the  very  expression  that  Breese 
used,  by  the  way,  in  speaking  of  society." 

"  There's  a  good  deal  of  truth  In  it,"  said  Miss  Darby. 
"  But  I  don't  think,  for  that  reason,  that  one  should  rush 
to  the  opposite  extreme,  and  make  a  monk  of  one's  .-.elf." 

"  So  I  told  Breese.  But  there's  no  convincing  him. 
I've  been  at  him  a  dozen  times  already ;  but  he's  as  firm 


280  HAMMERSMITH : 

as  a  rock.  Jack  Faycrweather  has  asked  him  up  there 
to-morrow  evening,  by  the  way,  and  I'm  going  to  do 
what  I  can  to  get  him  to  go.  I  doubt  very  much  if  1 
shall  succeed,  though.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  wish  you 
might  do  for  me,  Miss  Darby,  if  it  isn't  asking  too 
much." 

"Well?"  said  she. 

"  If  I  get  him  to  go,  and  it  comes  convenient,  couldn't 
you  pitch  into  him  a  little  on  the  subject  of  society,  — • 
show  him  how  mistaken  he  is,  and  that  sort  of  thing? 
You  see,  my  pride  is  aroused  now ;  and  I'm  bound  to 
carry  my  point  with  him,  even  if  I  only  induce  him  to  go 
out  with  me  once  or  twice." 

"  And  you  w£,:it  me  to  a3i  as  ally  and  counsellor?  " 

"Exactly,"  said  Hammersmith,  —  "if  ycu  will.  I 
don't  suppose  it's  exactly  the  thing  to  ask  of  you ;  but 
I"  — 

"  Oh !  I've  no  objections,  I  assure  you,  if  it  shall  be 
possible,  without  appearing  to  be  meddling,"  said  Miss 
Darby.  "I  should  like  immensely  to  hear  what  he  has 
to  say.  Father  says  he  is  remarkably  clever,  and  remark- 
ably original." 

"  That  he  is,  — our  head  scholar  now,  yon  know.  You 
ought  to  hear  him  pitch  into  sports  and  idleness,  and  so 
on,  at  college.  I  suppose,  when  he  saw  us  ;!ust  now,  he 
said  to  himself  that  I  was  wasting  my  time  riding  about 
the  country,  and  had  better  be  at  home  stud}  ing,  or  tak- 
ing a  quiet  walk  like  himself." 

Miss  Darbj-  started  just  a  bit  at  this  speech  of  Ham- 
mersmith's, which  was,  indeed,  frank  and  ill-considered, 
and  not  over-complimentary  to  the  young  woman  at  hia 
side  ;  but  she  presently  went  on,  — 

"  I'vs,  no  sympathy  with  men  who  can  be  so  severe  aa 
that.  I  don't  think  I  shall  like  him  a  bil; ;  and  I  do  not 
promise  that  I  will  ever  talk  to  him,  unless  he  is  veri 
gracious." 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  281 

"  Another  spin?  "  asked  Tom  ;  and  they  cantered  rap- 
idly homeward  a  mile  or  more,  the  horses  feeling  the 
freshness  of  approaching  twilight,  as  well  as  the  potent 
influence  of  nearing  domestic  fodder,  and  plunging  and 
pulling  hard  at  the  reins,  as  they  dashed  through  the 
lengthening  shadows,  and  over  the  brilliant  fallen  mantle 
of  autumn. 

"  How  the  old  Roman  could  ever  have  spoken  of 
'  Black  Care  that  sits  behind  the  horseman,'  I  never 
could  quite  see,"  said  Tom,  as  they  drew  near  Miss 
Darby's.  "  If  thsre  is  ever  a  time  when  Care  is  shaken 
cff,  and  thoroughly  driven  away,  it  is  when  you  are  on 
horseback;  don't  you  think  so?  He  must  be  a  pretty 
plucky  rider,  if  he  could  stick  on  behind  a  fellow  when 
he's  going  like  that  last  spin  of  ours,  eh? — Then  you 
will  dance  the  German  with  me  to-morrow  evening?" 
said  Tom,  as  he  was  taking  her  off  her  horse. 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish." 

"  And  3'ou  will  be  my  ally  in  bringing  Breese  out  of  his 
retirement,  if  it  can  be  managed?  " 

"  Yes,  if  I  can  help  you  at  all." 

"Thank  you  very  much,  —  and  for  a  very  pleasant 
ride.  Good-evening." 

"  Good-evening." 

Hammersmith  tore  back  to  the  stable,  riding  half  the 
time  without  stirrups,  as  he  had  ridden  on  the  banks  of 
the  Hudson  when  a  boy,  and  adding  a  fleeting  element 
of  movement  and  brightness  to  the  pedestrian  student 
world  steering  for  its  evening  meal. 

How  little  h,e  foresaw  the  effect  of  his  light  compact 
with  Miss  Darb}-,  half  in  jest  as  it  was  made  !  How  little 
he  knew  the  cause  of  the  suddenness  with  which  Breese 
answered  him  that  evening,  when  he  entered  his  room, 
and  said,  without  prelude,  — 

"  Now,  Breese,  I'm  going  to  make  you  go  with  me  ta 


282  HAMMERSMITH: 

the  Fayerweathers*  to-morrow  evening,  or  die  in  the 
attempt!" 

"  I'm  going,"  said  Breese  quietly. 

"What!  Ye  gods!  what  have  we  now?  Why  this 
sudden  lapsing  into  the  gabble-gabble  and  hoppity-skip  ?  " 

But  he  received  no  satisfactory  explanation  then,  or 
ever,  in  fact ;  and  only  long  afterwards  was  he  able,  as 
we  may  be,  to  fathom  by  conjecture,  and  joining  of  fact 
with  fact,  the  cause  of  Breese's  sudden  change  of  man- 
ner. 

Was  he  going  into  the  halls  of  flummery  once  for  all,  to 
see  for  himself  just  what  it  all  meant?  Was  he  meaning 
to  act  the  spy  on  Tom  himself  for  any  especial  reason  ? 
Was  he  realty  converted  to  Hammersmith's  way  of  think- 
ing ?  Was  he  attracted  by  any  particular  young  butterfly, 
such  as  he  had  spoken  of?  Was  he  really  beginning  to 
reflect  that  there  was  something  else  in  the  world  besides 
hard  work,  and  self-abnegation,  and  a  life  of  cheerless 
isolation  ? 

All  these  queries  popped  into  Tom's  mind  after  Issuing 
Breese  that  evening  with  his  curiosity  ungratified  ;  but  he 
was  compelled  to  allow  them  to  remain  unanswered  and 
bristling  for  many  long  weeks,  during  which  the  shifting 
scenes  of  their  college-life  went  on  about  them,  themselves 
prominent  actors  therein. 

It  was  an  auspicious  time  for  Breese  to  make  his  debut 
in  Cambridge  society.  Not  only  was  he  the  head  scholar 
in  his  class,  and  already  known  by  reputation  as  a  man  of 
unusual  genius,  as  well  as  the  friend  of  many  men  of  his 
class  who  were  favorites  in  Cambridge  circles,  but,  on  this 
day  of  the  Fa3'crwcather  party,  the  junior  exhibition  had 
come  off  (preceded  several  days  by  the  students'  comical 
episode  of  Junior  Mock  Parts) ,  and  Breese  had  deliverer 
an  oration  which  instantly  made  him  famous  in  the  univer- 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  283 

isity,  by  the  force  and  originalitj',  and  singular  maturity, 
of  its  arguments. 

He  had  been  assigned  a  part  which  did  not  fall  in  with 
his  line  of  thought,  or  suit  his  tastes  especially,  —  a  heavy 
Roman  theme,  with  no  possibility  of  a  modern  application ; 
but  at  his  personal  request,  made  effective  and  proper 
by  his  high  rank  in  the  class,  he  had  succeeded  in  substi- 
tuting for  it  an  oration  on  a  subject  of  his  own  selection. 
The  faculty  had  hemmed  and  hawed  over  the  novel  sug- 
gestion, and  turned  the  matter  over  in  their  learned  heads 
for  a  day  or  more,  seeking  pretexts  for  refusal.  But  as 
his  subject  did  not  threaten  the  life  or  existing  institutions 
of  the  universit}',  and  no  fair  excuse  for  refusal  could  be 
devised,  consent  had  been  given ;  and,  in  his  proper  place 
on  the  lists  that  day,  Breese  advanced  to  the  platform,  and 
delivered  his  part  amidst  intensest  interest. 

It  was  an  English  oration  on  "  The  Influence  of  Re- 
publics on  the  Individual."  And,  without  going  into  his 
arguments  in  this  place,  we  may  say,  that  by  its  breadth 
of  treatment,  ripeness  of  thought,  and  a  certain  throbbing 
sensitiveness  of  language,  which  was  the  mature  growth 
from  the  downright  fierceness  of  his  freshman  style,  he 
did  more  than  bear  off  the  laurels  of  the  day.  He  made 
himself  an  instant  name  with  the  authorities  and  the 
"scholarly  Cambridge  audience,  p,s  r,  man  of  far  more  than 
ordinary  ability,  —  a  name  which  his  future  college-career 
was  destined  to  add  to,  not  mar. 

Albemarle  was  put  down  for  a  Greek  oration,  which  he 
delivered  with  his  well-known  grace  of  manner,  —  a  cold, 
heavy,  classical  manner,  cuiting  his  theme.  Hammer- 
smith and  Trimble  were  joined  in  ?,  Latin  dialogue.  Tot- 
man,  the  "  Sculpin,"  outdid  ti-noelf  in  an  English  disqui- 
sition on  the  chronic  subject  of  "  The  Present  Aspect  of 
the  Eastern  Question;"  and  a  dozen  more  youngsters 
'stood  up  in  solemn  black  gowns,  and  aired  their  young 
thoughts  on  various  ponderous  world-matters. 


284  HAMMERSMITH : 

What  mingling  of  sense  and  nonsense,  and  skilfd. 
plagiarism  from  books,  those  bojish  efforts  showed !  Wife 
what  "faces,  smug  and  round  as  pearls,"  they  stood  up 
before  their  audience  of  mammas  and  cousins,  awful  uni- 
versity dignitaries,  and  half-attentive  fellow-students,  and 
hurled  their  carefully-balanced  sentences,  confident  of 
aim !  What  invective  there  was !  what  sonorous  round- 
ing of  periods !  what  laborious  copying  of  ancient  mod- 
els !  And  the  wise  smile  which  spread  over  scholarly 
faces  when  the  Latin  orator  made  an  intelligible  hit ;  the 
honorandi  and  spectatissimi  appropriating  their  titles  with 
a  sweet  humility,  and  the  vos,  qui  auditis  showing  here 
and  there  a  remarkable  attention,  as  though  they  said, 
"Oh,  yes!  we  understand  you.  Made  virtute,  my  boy! 
You  see,  we  speak  the  vernacular."  Ah,  what  ambitious 
little  literary  festivals  they  were !  And  how  can  the  eye 
of  criticism  look  back  at  them  with  any  thing  but  kind 
ness,  any  thing  but  admiration  for  their  charming  gravity, 
and  wonderful  profundity  of  discussion !  Away  with  the 
.  man  who  shall  say  that  they  were  vain,  or  join  with  Breese 
in  declaring  them  a  species  of  mouthing  and  mimicking 
of  classic  ages,  bearing  no  relation  to  the  present ! 

Breese's  oration,  then,  with  its  salient  points,  well  given 
in  intelligible  English,  and  its  originality,  in  such  striking 
contrast  with  the  rc.ajority  of  the  day's  exercises,  pro- 
cured him  no  small  fame  with  the  university  and  the 
quite  considerable  audience  from  outside  the  college- walls. 
Graduates  discussed  him  as  they  made  off  to  their  homes 
after  the  close  of  the  exhibition  ;  professors  nodded  their 
heads  approvingly  at  him  ;  mammas  and  young  daughters 
were  immensely  struck  with  his  earnest,  thoughtful  man- 
ners, and  spoke  of  him  as,  "Oh,  such  a  clever  man!  " 
His  own  classmates,  of  course,  joined  in  the  general 
murmur  of  applause,  and  were  not  sorry  that  they  had 
among  them  the  most  original  and  brilliant  man  of  the 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  285 

university,  —  each  man  feeling  a  peculiar  pride  in  the 
possession,  as  though  he  were  especially  responsible,  and 
especially  kind  in  allowing  Breese  to  speak.  And  Breese, 
for  his  part,  smiled  to  himself,  to  think  how  easy  a  thing 
could  change  the  whole  attitude  of  his  fellows  towards 
him  ;  and  yet  was  not  displeased  at  the  happy  change. 


286  HAMMERSMITH : 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MISS   DARBY  LEADS   A   "  GERMAN,"    AND   BREESE   LOOKS    ON 

"  Still,  as  before  (and  as  now) ,  balls,  dances,  and  evening  parties, 
Shooting  with  bows,  going  shopping  together,  and  hearing  them  singing, 
Dangling  beside  them,  and  turning  the  leaves  on  the  dreary  piano, 
Offering  unneeded  arms,  performing  dull  farces  of  escort, 
Seemed  like  a  sort  of  unnatural  up-in-the-air  balloon-work, 
(Or,  what  to  me  is  as  hateful,  a  riding  about  in  a  carriage), 
Utter  removal  from  work,  mother -earth,  and  the  objects  of  living." 

CLOUGH. 

r  I  HIE  gayest  party  of  the  season  was  at  its  height  the 
-*-  following  evening,  when  Breese  and  Hammersmith 
advanced  to  make  their  bows  in  Mrs.  Fayerweather's  par- 
lors, —  Breese,  the  literary  hero  of  the  hour,  whose  ora- 
tion even  the  severe  Dummer  had  pronounced  the  "  best- 
sustained  effort  for  many  years ;  "  Hammersmith,  his 
handsome  friend,  the  rescuer  of  Miss  Darby  in  his  first 
year  at  Cambridge,  the  champion  of  beleaguered  young 
actresses,  the  proud-spirited  young  fellow  who  had  even 
given  the  faculty  a  piece  of  his  Hammersmith  mind,  the 
oarsman  who  had  been  so  sadly  missed  in  the  'Varsity  at 
Worcester,  and  the  man  who  was  now  distinguishing  him- 
self in  almost  as  marked  a  manner  as  in  the  former 
unhappy  episodes  by  his  creditable  performance  in  the 
classrooms,  newly  proven  by  his  part  in  the  exhibition  of 
to-day.  And  with  what  a  lordly  air  the  young  gentleman 
bore  himself,  looking  you  in  the  eye  as  though  he  had 
never  known  an  actress,  or  a  Tufton,  or  any  but  the  most 
placid  experience  in  the  world  ! 

A  half-hour  later  Breese  was  standing  talking  earnestly 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  287 

*rith  Miss  Pinckney,  sister  of  the  fiery  chum  of  Goldie's, 
a  radiant  beauty,  with  a  certain  elan  and  impulsiveness 
quite  disconcerting  to  the  circumspect  young  women  of 
Boston,  among  whom  she  was  spending  the  winter  for  the 
sake  of  certain  musical  privileges. 

"  Why  are  you  scowling  so  at  your  sister,  Mr.  Pinck- 
rey?  "  asked  Miss  Summerdale,  as  she  came  out  from 
the  dancing-room  on  Pinckney 's  arm. 

"Confound  her!"  said  Pinckney.  "She's  talking 
with  that  fellow  Breese,  a  regular  old  reforming  humbug, 
dyed  in  the  wool !  Who  can  have  introduced  h«r?  " 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  him?"  asked  Miss 
Summerdale,  locking  up  at  him  interestedly,  reryiy  to 
hear  gossip,  or  take  his  part,  as  the  case  might  be. 

"  Nothing.  But,  as  I  say,  he's  a  regular  out-and-out 
demolisher  of  every  thing  under  tha  sun,  —  the  sort  of  a 
fellow  that  we  should  give  a  good  thick  coat  of  tar  and 
feathers,  if  we  caught  him  down  South,  with  an  old  mule 
to  carry  him  north  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  Line." 

"Gracious,  I  didn't  think  he  was  so  fierce  as  that! 
He's  certainly  remarkably  clever." 

"Of  course  he  is!  Those  fellows  generally  are. 
Anybody  can  be  clever,  if  he  sticks  to  one  thing  long 
enough,"  said  Pinckney.  And  the  handsome  young 
Southerner  paced  the  halls  with  his  fair  partner,  cooling 
themselves  from  their  dance,  and  looking  forward  anxiously 
to  the  German,  which  was  to  come  off  an  hour  hence,  and 
which  they  were  to  dance  together. 

"  I  hear  you  are  such  a  great  scholar,  Mr.  Breese !  " 
Miss  Pinckney  said,  continuing  her  conversation  with  the 
young  society-hater.  "  I  shall  be  really  afraid  to  say 
any  thing  to  you." 

,    "I  hope  not,"  said  Breese,  smiling  a  severe  sort  of 

smile,  —  why  will  not  people  let  his  scholarship  alone,  and 

'  treat  him  like  anybody  else !     "I  should  be  sorry  to  think 


288  HAMMERSMITH: 

myself  such  an  ogre  as  to  prevent  Miss  Pinckney  from 
saying  whatever  came  into  her  mind,  for  that  would  be  a 
cruelty  to  her  friends."  This,  by  way  of  his  first  compli- 
mentary sally,  surprised  him  not  a  little,  as  he  found  him- 
self making  it. 

"Oh,  thank  you !  But  I  am  always  afraid  of  j*ou 
great  New-England  scholars,  I'm  so  ignorant  myself.  I 
do  assure  you,  I  don't  know  any  thing !  —  nothing  but  a 
little  music,  and  history,  and  French,  of  course  ;  and,  oh ! 
I'm  awfully  fond  of  horses.  I  do  nothing  but  ride  and 
sing  at  h^rne.  And  really,  Mr.  Breese,  I  don't  see  any 
good  in  studying  so  awfully  hard.  What  does  it  all 
amount  to  ?  "  And  she  beamed  upon  the  poor  fellow  with 
such  a  frank  and  thoroughly  captivating  smile,  that  I 
wonder  he  didn't  then  and  there  abjure  study,  and  hard 
work,  and  his  solitary  moote  of  life,  altogether,  and  con- 
fess that  he  had  made  a  mistake. 

"It's  hard  to  see  what  any  thing  amounts  to,  as  you 
say,  Miss  Pinckney,"  he  remarked.  "  But  I've  set  my- 
self certain  work  to  do  here  in  Cambridge ;  and  I  think 
every  man  ought  to  stick  to  whatever  he  undertakes,  if  it 
kills  him." 

"  Of  course  he  ought,"  said  Miss  Pinckney;  "  and  I 
admire  you  for  keeping  to  what  3Tou  have  planned.  But 
I  should  think  it  would  be  such  hard  work  and  so  lonely ! 
I  hear  you  do  nothing  but  stud}r,  and  go  to  lectures,  all 
the  time.  Oh !  I  forgot  to  say  —  but  I  won't  tell  you,  for 
you  will  laugh  at  me  —  yes,  I  will,  though:  I'm  very 
fond  of  one  kind  of  books,  though  I  don't  suppose  you 
would  approve  of  my  taste.  I  dote  on  poetry !  " 

"Yes?"  he  said.  "Some  poetry  is  certainly  worth 
reading.  But  why  do  you  talk  of  me  as  though  I  were  a 
college  professor,  or  some  awful  literary  demon?  What 
poems  are  you  so  fond  of  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  hardly  dare  tell  you !     '  Lalla  Rookh,'  and  some 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  289 

of  "  —  But  she  was  exceedingly  happy  to  be  relieved  from 
what  she  feared  would  be  a  severe  catechism,  perhaps  a 
crushing  condemnation,  of  her  literary  powers,  on  seeing 
our  friend  Freemantle,  wearing  the  semi-ennuye  air  that 
lie  was  beginning  to  assume  as  life  began  to  pall  on  him, 
approach  them  from  the  ball-room,  and  say,  with  his 
head  slightly  on  one  side,  and  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat 
pockets,  — 

"  Ma}*  I  have  the  pleasure  of  this  galop,  Miss  Pinck- 
ney?  "  with  the  manner  of  a  man  who  thought,  "  Well,  I 
might  as  well  dance  as  do  an}'  thing  else." 

"Certami}-,"  said  Miss  Pinckney,  beaming  on  him  in 
turn,  "  if  Mr.  Breesc  will  excuse  me."  And  Breese  bowed 
gravely  at  her,  and  then  at  Freemautle,  turning  on  his  heel 
with  noticeable  impatience  at  something  as  the  two  passed 
into  the  ball-room,  and  presently  began  gliding  briskly 
about  in  the  crush  of  dancers. 

"  How  can  you  stand  that  Breese?"  asked  Freemantle 
under  Ms  breath,  as  the}'  danced. 

' '  Stand  him  !  You  wicked  —  man  !  What  —  do  you 
mean  ?  He's  —  very  nice  —  and  very  manly-looking, ' '  she 
answered,  in  a  broken  sort  of  way,  as  the}-  darted  here  and 
there,  and  young  novitiates  in  the  art  of  dancing  pranced 
wildly  about,  regardless  of  collisions,  and  all  Freernantle's 
practised  skill  was  required  in  steering  his  partner  safely 
through  the  maze. 

Breese,  turning,  was  advancing  to  the  reception-room, 
to  find  somebody  who  would  not  be  in  danger  of  being 
wlu'skcd  away  from  him  in  the  midst  of  a  conversation, 
when  he  came  upon  Hammersmith  and  Miss  Darby,  sit- 
ting in  a  passage-way,  and  talking  earnestly.  He  was 
bowing  and  passing  them,  when  Hammersmith  called 
Qut,  — 

"  See  here,  Breese  !  come  and  be  umpire.  Miss  Darby 
'and  I  were  discussing  —  a  —  a  —  the  question  of  Mock 


290  HAMMERSMITH: 

Parts.  She  doesn't  approve  of  them ;  thinks  them  too 
personal,  ungentlemanly,  and  that  sort  of  thing ;  and  of 
course  I  was  standing  up  for  them  as  a  good  old  custom. 
Wha^  do  you  think?"  And  while  Miss  Darby  put  on  a 
look  oi  perfect  notification  and  wonder  (and  their  low, 
earnest  dialogue  before  Breese  came  up  did  not  have  the 
appearance,  by  any  means,  of  a  simple  discussion  of  a 
college-custom) ,  Breese  began  quite  innocently  to  give  his 
opinion,  siding,  as  Tom  knew  he  would,  with  Miss  Darby, 
and  against  the  custom  of  Mock  Parts,  — a  burlesque  per- 
formance allowing  great  license  in  the  way  of  pasquinade 
and  travesty  of  classmate  by  classmate. 

Miss  Darby  looked  so  unutterably  surprised,  and  Breese 
was  proceeding  with  such  gravity  to  lay  down  the  law  in 
support  of  his  view  of  the  case,  that  Tom  feared  he  might 
be  caught  in  his  little  fib,  and,  suddenly  looking  at  his 
watch,  said, — 

"You  will  excuse  me,  Miss  Darby,  and  Breese.  It's 
nearly  time  for  supper ;  and  I  must  go  and  see  about  the 
favors  for  the  German,  which  begins  right  after.  Dipton 
was  to  have  led,"  said  Tom  to  Breese,  "  but  has  just  sent 
word  that  he  is  called  home  suddenly  ;  and  Jack  has  asked 
Miss  Darby  and  me  to  lead  in  his  place.  —  You  think  a 
favor  figure  had  better  be  the  first?  "  to  Miss  Darby. 

"  Yes,  it's  better,  I  think.  The  bouquets,  before  they 
are  wilted.  And  please  have  our  seats  somewhere  away 
from  the  music:  it  is  so  deafening!"  Hammersmith 
bowed,  smd  walked  off. 

"  I'm  very  fond  of  that  man,  Miss  Darby.  He's  a  fine 
fellow,"  said  Breese ;  "the  only  man  in  the  class  that  I 
feel  I  can  talk  freely  with,  without  fear  of  offending  him, 
or  of  being  misunderstood." 

"You've  proved  your  liking  for  him  by  what  you  did 
for  him  last  year,"  said  Miss  Darby,  crossing  her  handa 
tn  her  lap,  and  turning  her  face  partly  towards  him.  ' '  Has 


HIS  HABVAKD  DAYS.  291 

he  ever  found  out  that  you  came  to  me  about  his  faculty 
trouble?  I  hope  not." 

"Not  from  me,  on  my  word,  Miss  Darby!  I  don't 
think  he  quite  understands  yet  exactly  how  he  came  to 
be  saved  from  being  sent  off;  but  I  think,  from  things  he 
has  let  drop,  that  he  supposes  Goldie  and  your  father  were 
the  cause.  I  do  not  believe  he  suspects  either  you  or 
me." 

"  I  am  very  glad.  It  would  place  us  all  in  an  extremely 
ridiculous  light,"  she  said,  smiling.  "He  is  so  high- 
spirited  !  —  But  let  me  congratulate  you  on  your  success 
to-day,  Mr.  Breese.  Papa  and  I  listened  to  ever}-  word 
of  it ;  and,  though  I  couldn't  understand  more  than  half 
you  said,  I  know  it  was  very  clever,  for  everybody  says  so. 
But  you  must  be  tired  of  being  congratulated  on  it,  are 
you  not?" 

"  Almost,"  he  said.  "  It  is  always  pleasant  to  be  com- 
plimented by  one's  friends,  however:  Tom,  Dick,  and 
Harry  is  another  matter." 

"How  is  it  that  you  happen  to  be  here,  though,  this 
evening?  The  Fayerweathers  are  more  successful  than 
we  in  drawing  you  out  of  your  shell  —  den  I  believe  col- 
lege-men call  it." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Breese,  examining  the  pattern 
of  some  tiles  at  his  feet,  near  which  a  little  white  slipper 
showed  its  dainty  tip.  "I  suppose,  being  such  a  great 
man  as  you  say  I  am,  I  came  out  to  receive  the  homage 
of  my  admirers  ; ' '  and  he  tried  to  smile  unconcernedly,  and 
Vailed. 

"  But  I  thought  society  and  the  hoppity-skip  were  wick- 
odness  and  abomination  in  your  eyes,"  she  said  with  equal 
unconcern. 

He  turned  suddenly,  but  checked  himself,  and  said,  — 

"Oh,  no!  I  think  a  man,  or  anybody  for  that  matter, 
'can  waste  a  great  deal  of  time  at  parties.  But  they  are 
yidoubtedly  good  in  moderation,  like  most  else  in  life." 


292  HAMMEKSMITH : 

"  Don't  3Tou  think  it's  all  flummery  and  gabble-gabble? '' 
she  asked  drowsity,  lifting  herflacon. 

"Miss  Darb}r,  pardon  me,"  lie  said  in  some  alarm, 
"but  where  did  you  get  those  words?  Has  Hammer- 
smith been  peaching  on  me? " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  peaching  on  you," 
she  answered,  with  an  air  of  mischief.  "Mr.  Hammer- 
smith certainly  told  me  of  a  droll  man  in  his  class  who 
used  those  words  in  speaking  of  the  society  of  his  fellow 
men  and  women ;  but  he  did  not  tell  me  who  he  was.  It 
cannot  be  you,  Mr.  Breese !  You  cannot  have  dreamed 
of  sending  a  brass  man  to  represent  you  at  such  a  place 
as  this  ! ' ' 

"  Don't  make  fun  of  me,  Miss  Darby !  "  he  said,  losing 
what  pique  at  Hammersmith's  treachery  he  may  have  had, 
as  he  saw  the  merry  mood  in  which  she  treated  it.  "I 
may  have  expressed  myself  very  strongly  with  Hammer- 
smith, and  used  a  very  bold  metaphor ;  but  I  must  cry 
Peccavi.  I  certainly  used  those  words,  though  I  did  not 
imagine  how  ridiculous  they  would  sound  when  quoted 
against  me." 

"Seriously,  though,  is  that  the  way  you  think  about 
people  in  general?  If  so,  you  must  be  a  very  unhappy 
man,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  said  he  slowly:  "  I  am  not  more  so  than  most 
men  who  have  their  eyes  open  as  they  go  through  life. 
But  let  us  go  into  the  library :  it  is  too  noisy  here."  And, 
rising,  he  gave  his  arm  to  her,  and  they  went  in,  finding 
seats  near  a  chiffbnniere. 

"  All  I  meant  to  imply,"  he  continued,  "  when  I  talked 
lo  Hammersmith,  —  I'll  pay  him  up  for  retailing  my  pet 
opinions  in  this  way  !  "  — 

"No,  promise  me  j'ou'll  say  nothing  about  it,  Mr, 
Breese !  It  was  entirely  uncalled  for ;  and  I  am  very 
sorry  if  I  have  offended  in  repeating  the  words,  —  for,  t® 


HIS  HABVAKD  DAYS.  293 

be  honest,  he  did  afterwards  tell  me  that  it  was  you  who 
had  used  them,  though  not  till  yesterday,  when  we  met 
you  at  Belmont." 

"Of  course  I'll  not  mention  it,  if  you  so  order,"  he 
said.  "  But  what  I  meant  was,  that  the  play  is  not  worth 
the  candle  ;  that  there  is  an  immense  amount  of  time  and 
energy  wasted, — look  at  those  men  struggling  in  the 
galop,  for  example !  — and  no  appreciable  gain." 

"I've  no  doubt  what  you  say  and  think  is  true,  in  part, 
Mr.  Breese.  But  really  it  would  be  such  a  sombre  world, 
and  we  should  be  such  long-faced,  lugubrious  people, 
without  just  such  rneny-makings  as  this,  for  example,  that 
I  cannot  help  thinking  it  is  better  not  to  try  to  stem  the 
current,  but  take  things  about  as  you  find  them,  and  be 
cheerful.  '  Serve  God  and  be  cheerful,'  as  the  old  bishop's 
motto  was." 

"But  I'm  cheerful  enough,"  said  Breese  earnestly. 
"At  least,  I  hope  I  am!" 

"Oh!  don't  let  us  be  personal,"  said  Miss  Darby. 
"  Let  us  talk  of  a  third  person,  if  }'ou  will.  I  don't  like 
to  prophes}',  and  I  don't  like  to  be  rude ;  but  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  a  man  or  a  woman  who  deliberately, 
for  no  special  reason  but  a  pet  theory,  goes  to  work  to 
shut  himself  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  must  inevita- 
bly, sooner  or  later,  repent  of  it,  and  cry  out  for  sympathy 
and  re-admission,  when  it  is  too  late ;  when  he  has  be- 
come so  set  in  his  ways,  that  he  can  no  longer  appreciate 
sympathy,  or  find  the  comfortable  niche  in  the  world  that 
he  might  have  had." 

"You  think  so?"  asked  Breese,  who  had  listened 
carefully  to  every  word  of  this  long  opinion.  "Must  a 
man  give  up  a  great  deal  of  tune  which  he  may  hold 
precious,  and  a  great  many  ideals  for  which  he  is  living, 
merely  to  get  this  sympathy,  as  you  call  it?  " 

"  Merely  to  get  S}*mpathy !  "    she    said.     "It  shows 


294  HAMMERSMITH: 

that  you  must  be  very  heroic  and  very  self-contained,  Mr. 
Breese,  that  you  can  talk  in  this  way  of  merely  getting 
sympatlry.  But  I  forget :  we  are  not  to  be  personal.  A 
man  or  woman,  then,  must  be  very  heroic  and  very  self- 
centred,  who  can  go  on,  year  in  and  year  out,  and  not  feol 
the  need  of  just  such  careless  merriment  as  this." 

"  But  I  do  not  see  the  connection  between  this  careless 
merriment  and  the  sympathy  of  which  you  speak ;  of 
course  you  use  sympathy  in  its  large  Greek  sense  ?  ' ' 

"  Of  course,"  she  said.  "No?  You  do  not  see  it? 
Pray,  if  it  is  not  by  keeping  the  heart  warm,  the  temper 
cheerful,  and  the  feelings  receptive,  how  can  sympathy 
ever  come?  And  what  else  would  you  expect  of  these 
young  people  ?  You  can  hardly  expect  them  as  j~et  to  be 
capable  of  a  larger,  deeper  S3rmpathy,  —  with  the  world 
at  large,  let  us  say ;  to  be  capable  of  kindling  with  tender 
feeling  over  abstractions  and  lofty  ideas  solely?  No,  Mr. 
Breese,  —  I  beg  pardon  for  being  such  an  orator,  —  it  is  a 
difficult  task ;  but  it  is  every  one's  duty,  I  think,  to  mingle 
with  his  fellow  men  and  women,  even  if  at  apparent  sacri- 
fice. Anybody  can  be  a  saint  in  a  closet,  shut  up  by 
himself,  away  from  the  things  which  try  him,  and  against 
which  he  prays  for  strength :  the  hard  thing  is  to  come 
out  with  tolerance  and  dignity,  and  show  one's  strength 
in  the  crowd." 

"  I  have  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light,  Miss  Darby, 
or  known  anybody  who  cared  to  put  it  to  me  so  kindly," 
Breese  said  slowl}*,  after  a  pause  ;  and  then  he  felt  sorry 
almost  to  have  said  it,  it  seemed  so  to  bare  his  feelings. 

Hammersmith  returned  at  this  point  to  announce  the 
German  favors  ready,  and  the  supper-room  opened.  But 
Miss  Darby  said  she  did  not  care  to  try  the  chances  of  the 
crowd  ;  and  Tom  went  off  to  forage  for  her.  "  Oh  !  an 
ice,  or  something,"  she  said:  "  I  don't  care  for  much." 
—  "Better  have  some  bouillon,"  said  Tom,  "German, 


HIS    HARVARD    DAYS.  295 

you  know  ;  "  and  she  said.  "  Very  well,"  while  Breese  sat 
near  her,  turning  over  some  large  Human  and  Grecian 
photographs  absent-mindedly. 

"  Here  is  my  posh  ion  in  a  nutshell,"  he  said  suddenly, 
as  an  idea  struck  him  :  and  he  held  up  several  ancient 
heads,  of  emperors,  philosophers,  gods,  with  their  calm 
majesty  and  sturdy  strength.  "  This  is  what  I  mean: 
our  American  society  will  never  produce  such  men  as 
these,  or  even  men  who  can  chisel  them  or  imagine  them, 
so  long  as  it  is  founded  on  such  a  set  of  teetotums  as  now, 
and  everybody  is  rushing  and  tearing  through  life  as 
Americans  generally  are." 

"Oh!  that  is  another  question,"  said  Miss  Darby. 
"  We  cannot  discuss  such  big  themes  as  that  at  a  party." 

"Exactly,  exactly!"  said  Breese  almost  gleefully. 
"  There  you  side  with  me.  by  agreeing  that  parties  are 
only  fit  for  whirling  and  inane  talking.  I  think  I  shall 
stick  to  my  old  '  flummery  '  and  '  hoppity-skip  '  doctrine. 
Do  you  know.  Miss  Darby,  if  I  were  to  name  this  century, 
what  I  should  call  it?  " 

"I've  not  the  slightest  idea,"  she  answered.  "'The 
Age  of  the  Hoppity-skip.'  or  '  A  Hundred  Years  of  Gabble- 
gabble  '?  " 

"  Xo  :  that  might  be  as  well ;  but  I  should  dub  it  '  The 
Century  of  Hubbub.'  And  America  I  should  call  ;  The 
Paradise  of  Hubbub.'  ' 

"Well.  I'm  glad  you  have  not  the  naming  of  the  cen- 
tury and  the  country,  then,"  she  added  merrily.  '-They 
would  be  fine  names  to  go  down  in  history  !  —  O  Mr. 
Hammersmith  !  we  have  been  having  such  a  wordy  war  ! 
Mr.  Breese  will  never  want  to  hear  me  speak  again." — • 
Breese  was  bowing  depreeatingly. —  "he's  such  a  severe 
critic  !  It's  really  quite  awful !  "  And  she  played  with  her 
ice.  and  ate  it  daintily  ;  while  Breese,  whose  whole  soul 
went  into  ever}'  slightest  discussion,  wondered  at  the 


296  HAMMERSMITH: 

remarkable  adaptability  of  humankind,  \vlio  can  slip  iron: 
grave  to  gay,  from  matters  of  moment  to  badinage,  so 
easily,  and  asked  himself  why  he  felt  a  certain  jar  in 
the  consciousness  of  the  fact.  Not  an  adaptable  man, 
not  a  man  of  a  fluent  nature,  evidently.  A  man  whose 
thoughts,  as  his  actions,  ran  in  straight  lines,  and  could 
not  accommodate  themselves  to  the.  quick  turns  common 
lo  nimbler  minds.  A  downright  man,  who  could  not  see 
bow  a  fair  young  woman,  that  could  sit  for  a  half-hour 
talking  seriously  to  a  man,  as  Miss  Darby  had  just  done, 
could  be  whirling  through  the  gay  German  the  next  hour, 
and  not  one  only,  but  many  hours,  sparkling  with  enjoy- 
ment. Where  was  the  discrepancy?  Where  was  the 
fault?  —  In  him,  or  in  existing  affairs?  in  John  Breese,  a 
junior,  or  Miss  Ellen  Darby,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the 
beloved  professor  ? 

Beautiful  daughter,  did  I  say?  I  do  not  know  that  I 
have  proved  it,  and  I  do  not  know  that  I  intend  to  do  so. 
In  fact,  I  have  never  been  able  sufficiently  to  wonder  at 
the  boldness  of  biographers  or  romancers  in  naming  the 
attractions  of  a  young  woman  who  may  come  under  their 
hands,  describing  her  in  a  clumsj7,  masculine  fashion  per- 
haps, and  expecting  }TOU  instantly  to  faU  in  love  with  her, 
and  proclaim  her  lovely  beyond  compare.  How  can  I 
describe  the  indescribable  ?  How  may  this  blunt  pen  and 
these  flat  words  set  forth  the  charms,  which  if  I  were  a 
novelist,  and  not  a  plain  biographer,  I  should  say,  in  the 
most  emphatic  kind  of  language,  with  all  manner  of  rosy 
Adjectives,  neither  the  painter's  nor  the  sculptor's  art 
could  comprehend  and  fitly  portray  ? 

Who  can  expect  to  please  everybody,  moreover  ?  Who 
can  expect  that  some  would  not  say  this,  and  some  say 
that,  and  many  a  careful  }"oung  reader,  of  the  softer  and 
the  sterner  sex  alike,  exclaim  at  last,  "  Wlrj ,  I  don't  think 
she's  pretty  at  all !  or  he  doesn't  describe  her  so,  at  any 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  297 

rate  !  "  -  —  how  could  I  undertake  such  tremendous  respon- 
sibility ,  or  endure  such  terrible  criticism !  And  don't  I 
know  that  her  own  contemporaries  even  have  their  little 
flings  at  her,  finding  fault  with  this  or  that  feature,  this 
or  that  mode  of  dressing  her  hair,  with  her  manner  of 
smiling,  even?  —  but  what  beautiful  girl  is  free  from  this? 
And  still  it  is  enough  to  make  a  poor  masculine  chronicler 
pause,  or  turn  pale,  and  at  last  take  refuge  in  the  safe 
generalization,  "beautiful." 

For  if  Mrs.  Lace  throat  thinks  her  eyes  of  too  dark  a 
blue,  and  Miss  Dovecot  thinks  them  too  light ;  and  Miss 
Trimmersale  says  her  smile  is  as  haughty  as  a  queen's, 
and  Miss  LiUypop  de'clares  that  she  smiles  too  much,  and 
not  only  that,  but  too  markedly  in  certain  directions  ;  if 
the  Bantam  girls  of  Roxbury  say  she  is  too  tall,  and  Miss 
Tallcut  (who  swoops  down  upon  Cambridge  society  once 
or  twice  in  a  winter,  cany  ing  off  a  student  heart  or  two 
at  her  girdle  after  every  foray)  insists  with  emphasis 
that  she  is  much  too  short ;  if  Mrs.  S tickle waite  of  Med- 
ford,  aunt  of  the  3'outhful  Malachite,  thinks  her  hair  too 
light  for  her  eyes,  and  Mrs.  Dandelion,  who  has  had  a 
pair  of  corn-colored  daughters  on  the  carpet  for  some 
years  now,  (and  the  market  so  very,  very  dull !)  declares 
the  same  hair  far  too  dark,  and  that  the  way  it  shades  off 
into  a  lighter  color  at  the  ends  is  very  suspicious,  — yes, 
very  suspicious,  —  as  are  also  the  lovely  rippling  waves 
that  cover  her  head, — how,  I  sajr,  how,  under  Heaven,  can 
I  hope  to  reconcile  these  conflicting  witnesses !  How 
can  I  dare  even  approach  that  mysterious  shrine,  where 
the  awful  feminine  toilet-rites  are  performed,  and  at  which 
Mrs.  Dandelion  is  evidently  so  devout  a  Torshipper !  How 
can  I,  a  poor  male  merely,  do  any  thing  but  fall  down  afar 
off,  with  my  face  to  the  ground,  and  exclaim  simply, 
:'  Beautiful,  beautiful!"  as  the  radiant  young  devotee 
\jomes  forth ! 


298  HAMMERSMITH : 

No,  no !  of  whatever  else  I  may  be  guilty,  I  cannot 
attempt  sacrilege,  or  dare  so  much  as  to  touch  the  crown 
of  her  fair  head  with  the  patter  of  my  poor  words.  I 
withdraw,  I  throw  down  the  pen,  I  seek  an  asj'lurn  in  the 
above-named  generalization,  and  in  the  verdict  of  the 
Fayerweathers,  the  Summerdales,  and  a  host  of  others,  by 
whom  the  adjective  in  question  is  freely  applied  to  Miss 
Darby.  I  refuse  to  attempt  the  impossible.  I  can  do 
nothing  Tbut  admire,  and  give  thanks  before  the  sweet  "vir- 
ginal charms  that  the  old  Cambridge  elms  have  seen  bud- 
ding beneath  them  for  some  eighteen  years  now  (save  the 
year  and  a  half  that  she  spent  in  Europe) ,  and  wonder 
again  how  the  young  university  men  can  have  allowed  her 
all  this  time  to  remain  — but  this  is  dangerous  ground  for 
an  old  gentleman  with  an  eye  for  beaut}*  to  attempt,  and 
again  he  draws  back. 

I  can  at  least,  however,  refer  to  these  young  students 
so  far  as  to  say  that  their  verdict,  if  asked,  would  be  the 
same  as  that  of  the  Summerdales,  the  Fayerweathers,  and 
that  of  all  sensible  people.  For  I  know  from  undoubted 
authority,  (as  well  as  from  a  fact  which  I  will  never  divulge, 
no,  never !)  that  they  thought  her  most  lovely  and  charm- 
ing ;  that  the  sky  seemed  brighter,  and  brave  deeds  more 
easy,  when  they  passed  her  in  the  Cambridge  streets ; 
Chappy  the  man  who  could  lift  his  hat  to  her !)  that  dan- 
cing-parties seemed  more  dignified  and  stately  when  she 
entered  the  rooms  ;  and  that,  at  this  particular  party  of  the 
Fayerweathers,  man}*  a  man,  and  young  woman  too  for 
that  matter,  exclaimed,  "What  a  remarkably  handsome 
couple  they  make  !  "  as  Mr.  Tom  and  she  led  out  in  the 
prett}*  figures  of  the  dance  that  came  on  later. 

For  all  these  reasons  I  refuse  to  do  more  than  repeat 
the  slight  hints  of  blue  eyes  and  fair  hair  given  above,  and 
maintain  that  I  am  justified  in  declaring  hei  beautiful,  as 
you,  and  3'ou,  and  you,  would  declare,  if  3*011  knew  wha 


HIS    HARVARD    DAYS.  299 

I  know,  and  if  you  had  sat,  as  I  have,  at  her  hospitable 
table  many  years,  ah,  how  many  !  after  this  gay  evening. 

Every  one's  own  imagination  is  the  best  painter  in  fill- 
ing in  the  details  of  his  heroine  ;  and,  with  the  few  bits  of 
color  which  my  words  and  the  gossips'  have  supplied 
above,  everybody  may  imagine  the  blue-eyed,  rather 
haughty,  young  beaut}-,  who  has  set  Brcese  speculating 
so  thoroughly  this  evening,  and  with  whom  we  have  lin- 
gered rather  too  long,  as  she  sits  chipping  the  little  ice 
that  Hammersmith  has  brought  her. 

.  Supper  being  over,  and  while  various  scurrying  students 
were  emerging  from  quiet  retreats  in  which  they  had  been 
enjoying  cosej*  tete-a-tetes, — from  under  the  stairs,  from 
off  the  several  landings  of  the  broad  stairway,  from  the 
reception-room,  rich  in  easy-chairs.  —  Hammersmith  ad- 
vanced to  Mrs.  Summer  dale,  only  less  beautiful  than  her 
fair  daughter,  and  said,  — 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Summerdale.  will  you  be  so  good?  — 
will  3"ou  honor  us  by  taking  charge  of  the  favors  at  the 
head  of  the  German  ?  ' ' 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,  Mr.  Hammersmith,  if  you  really 
want  me,"  she  said.  Hammersmith  assuring  her  thai  it 
would  give  him  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the  world,  she 
assented  ;  and  Tom  went  off  to  the  ball-room  to  see  that 
every  thing  was  in  order. 

Men  arc  now  rushing  about  for  their  German-partners, 
escorting  them  to  their  scats,  which  are  ranged  about  the 
wall,  and  removing  their  handkerchiefs  from  the  chairs, 
where  they  had  tied  them  by  way  of  pre-emption.  The 
musicians  file  off  to  the  supper-room  ;  there  is  a  buzz 
and  a  murmur  of  voices  ;  the  non-dancers  are  warned  out 
of  the  dancing-room,  and  gather  mournfully  about  the 
Doorways,  conscious  that  they  are  to  be  no  part  of  the 
approaching  gayet}' ;  and  Hammersmith  and  young  Fayer- 
weather  are  rushing  here  and  there,  arranging  seats,  setr 
/  tlins  disputed  claims,  and  clearing  the  field  for  action. 


300  HAMMERSMITH: 

The  musicians  come  in  merry  and  rosy,  the  cornet- 
player  twirling  his  blonde  mustache,  and  surveying  the 
beauties  about  the  room.  "While  the  pianist  is  striking  a 
chord  or  two,  and  the  violinist  is  tuning  up  with  that  pre- 
liminary instrumentation  which  young  Partington  thought 
the  finest  part  of  the  concert,  Hammersmith  advances  over 
the  crash-covered  floor,  with  Mrs.  Summerdale  on  his  arm,, 
carrying  in  his  left  hand  a  sort  of  May-pole,  hung  with  a, 
number  of  long  fluttering  ribbons,  together  with  a  mass 
of  tarlatan,  in  strips  of  various  colors,  which  hang  from 
his  arm,  and  trail  on  the  floor,  as  he  walks.  A  servant 
follows,  bearing  a  huge  pyramid  of  bouquets,  arrayed  on 
a  frame ;  another,  with  a  large  white- wood  box,  filled 
with  favors  of  every  sort. 

Hammersmith  deposits  Mrs.  Summerdale  by  the  side 
of  the  pier-glass :  the  flowers,  ribbons,  and  other  belong- 
ings of  her  pretty  office,  are  arranged  about  her ;  while 
Miss  Pinckney,  and  other  young  women  with  an  eye  for 
color,  exclaim,  "  How  beautiful!  I  never  saw  any  thing 
half  so  pretty  !  "  Hammersmith  returns  with  Miss  Darby, 
whom  he  seats  next  Mrs.  Summerdale.  He  glances  about 
to  see  that  all  are  in  place,  lifts  Ms  hand  to  the  musicians  ; 
and,  as  they  sweep  into  the  first  swinging  measures  of  a 
glorious  Strauss  waltz,  the  first  four  couples,  headed  by 
Miss  Darby  and  Hammersmith,  start  from  their  places, 
and  glide  smoothly  and  gracefully  about  the  room. 

"  A  very  pretty  sight,"  said  Professor  Dailry  to  Mr. 
Gayton  Hammersmith,  as  the  two  stood  in  a  doorway, 
looking  in.  "  Your  nephew  is  a  generalissimo  of  the  first 
order." 

"That  he  is,"  chuckled  Mr.  Hammersmith.  "Gad, 
though !  but  his  mother  would  be  amused,  I  may  say 
horrified,  to  see  her  hopeful  leading  off  in  a  rout  like 
this.  The  lines  were  drawn  rather  tight  in  nry  brother's 
family.  Your  daughter  is  looking  uncommonly  well  to- 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  301 

night,  professor,  eh?  —  Yes,  Mrs.  Darby,  I  was  just  say- 
ing to  the  professor,  that  Miss  Darby  was  the  belle  of 
the  ball  to-night." 

"  You're  very  kind,  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Hammersmith,"  be 
gan  Mrs.  Darby  ;  when  the  professor  tapped  Mr.  Gayton 
on  the  shoulder,  and  he  turned. 

Tom  had  clapped  his  hands ;  the  couples  had  stopped 
dancing,  and  advanced  to  Mrs.  Summerdale  for  bouquets 
and  favors.  Mr.  Gayton  turned,  and  found  Miss  Fayer- 
weather,  standing  within  the  ring  of  chairs,  holding  up  a 
bit  of  red  ribbon  to  him,  and  saying,  as  she  bent  her  head, 
"  Mr.  Hammersmith !  " 

"For  me?"  said  the  surprised  "Duke."  "Thank 
you  .very  much ;  but  I  haven't  danced  for  five  hundred 
years,  my  dear  Miss  Fayerweather  !  I  "  — 

"  No,  no,  you  must !  "  she  said,  shaking  the  ribbon. 

"  But  I  can't !  I'm  an  old  fossil!  I'm  of  the  age  of 
trilobites  !  This  modern  step ' '  — 

"Come,  come,  uncle  Ga3^ton!  "  said  Tom,  who  was 
handing  a  bouquet  to  Miss  Barlow,  near  by;  and  the 
young  gentleman  in  front  of  Mr.  Gayton,  rising  politely, 
and  lifting  his  chair  out  of  the  way,  Mr.  Gaj'toli  passed 
through,  and,  with  some  considerable  trepidation,  essayed 
the  steps  of  the  trilobite  age.  The  young  gentleman 
who  had  risen  so  politely  resumed  his  seat,  saying  to  his 
partner,  — 

"Why,  in  the  world,  won't  these  old  fellows  keep  out 
of  the  way!  " 

Miss  Pinckney  exclaimed,  — 

"Isn't  he  fun,  though!  What  a  dear  old  gentleman! 
Is  he  Mr.  Hammersmith's  uncle?"  And  Breese  looked 
on  from  another  doorway,  wondering  how  a  man  could 
niuke  such  a  fool  of  himself. 

A  fool  of  himself !  He  was  glorious  !  He  was  superbly 
'm  earnest !  He  was  as  gallant  as  a  beau  of  the  last  cen- 


302  HAMMERSMITH: 

tury !  He  was  working  like  a  Trojan !  He  was  a  "  dear 
old  gentleman  !  "  But  when  Mr.  Tom,  gliding  beautifully 
with  Miss  Barlow,  saw  the  old  gentleman  struggling  in  the 
crowd,  and  beheld  the  agile  grace  of  five  hundred  years 
ago,  he  whispered  to  Miss  Barlow,  Miss  Barlow  whispered 
to  him,  and  it  was  the  longest,  most  unaccountably  long 
t.'tne,  before  Hammersmith  stopped  dancing,  clapped  his 
hands,  and  stood  watching  the  uncle,  with  difficulty  avoid- 
ing collisions  right  and  left. 

"What  do  I  do  now?"  asked  the  "Duke,"  as  he 
stopped,  seeing  the  rest  had  come  to  a  halt. 

"  Take  me  to  my  seat,  please,  near  the  pier-glass," 
said  Miss  Fayerweather ;  and  he  offered  his  arm  as  he 
might  offer  it  to  a  duchess  ;  and,  bowing  profusely  as  she 
seated  herself,  he  said,  — 

"  You  know  Napoleon  was  an  awkward  dancer,  like  all 
great  geniuses.  '  The  fact  is,  beautiful  countess,'  said 
Napoleon,  leading  an  unhappy  partner  to  her  seat,  '  my 
part  is  not  so  much  to  dance  myself  as  to  make  others 
dance.'  Now,  I  can't  say  exactly  the  same  thing  of 
my"— ^ 

"See 'here,  uncle,  you're  in  the  way  here,  —  Duke 
Hammersmith's  carriage  blocks  the  way!"  said  Mr. 
Tom,  coming  up  as  a  new  set  of  dancers  went  whirling 
over  the  floor. 

"  Ah,  "pardon  Tom!  I  was  thanking  Miss  Fuyci> 
weather  for  the  pleasure  of  my  dance,"  and,  bowing  low, 
he  turned,  and  was  almost  floored  by  young  Malachite, 
wildest  of  prance rs.  But  he  recovered  himself,  looked  a 
dagger  or  two  at  the  young  bumper,  and  made  his  way 
out  of  the  room,  exceedingly  warm  and  rosy,  with  the 
cut  on  his  forehead  almost  as  red  as  the  knot  of  ribbon 
that  now  ornamented  his  coat. 

Meanwhile,  Breese  was  looking  in  at  the  doorway  on 
his  first  German,  his  first  real  party-life  in  Cambridge.  It 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  303 

was  a  pretty  sight,  it  was  an  innocent  scene.  There  was 
an  abundance  of  j'outh  and  beuuty,  and  sparkling  life, 
that  the  most  confirmed  cynic  could  hardly  withstand.  I 
know  one  man,  at  least,  who  hopes  he  may  never  arrive  at 
that  age  or  condition  of  life  when  the  sight  of  such  joy- 
ous merriment  shall  be  other  than  pleasant  and  kindling. 
If  he  shall  ever  arrive  at  such  a  gloomy  period,  he  will 
surely  feel  that  something  is  wrong  with  him,  as  he 
would  feel  now,  my  dear  Philippus,  if  he  found  that  he 
could  not  do  his  thirty  miles  a  day  on  foot,  or  his  fifty  on 
horseback,  without  wincing. 

Breese  was  not  the  man,  however,  to  admit  a  fault 
within  himself,  if  it  could  be  saddled  on  somebody  or 
something  else.  Looking,  in  a  half-sad,  half-contemptu- 
ous way,  at  this  gay  scene,  so  different  from  his  ordinary 
evening's  sights,  he  fell  to  observing  the  different  couples 
as  they  sat  within  view,  or  moved  about  through  the 
rooms.  Above  all,  he  noted  the  men,  largely  from  his 
own  class,  and  tried  to  discover  the  especial  pleasure 
which  attracted  each  to  such  a  scene  as  this.  A  man,  you 
see,  that  could  not  take  an  evening  like  this  as  a  simple 
enjoyment,  a  mere  pleasant  episode,  but  must  needs  turn 
it  over,  and  examine  it,  and  ask  what  it  is,  what  it  amounts 
to,  — not  an  especially  pleasant  man  for  an  idle  moment, 
lazy  country-house  life,  or  a  merry  dancing-party,  3*011 
may  imagine,  and  correctly. 

Hammersmith,  for  instance,  fl}*ing  about  in  every 
diiection,  clapping  his  hands  till  Ms  gloves  had  burst, 
capturing  privateers,  arranging  figures,  what  pleasure 
could  there  be  in  it -for  him?  Miss  Darby,  to  be  sure, 
seemed  happj-  and  tranquil  (tranquillity  being  an  essential 
item  in  Breese's  estimate  of  the  perfect  condition),  and 
t  •,  was  the  picture  of  beautj*  and  refinement  as  she  sat  talk- 
ing with  Mrs.  Summerdale,  or  rose  and  danced  off  now 
and  then,  when  she  was  taken  out.  But  there  was  Free- 


304  HAMMERSMITH : 

mantle,  looking  by  this  time  quite  bored  to  death,  almost 
lying  down  in  an  unusually  easy  chair  in  the  corner  of 
the  room,  evidently  making  satirical  remarks  to  his  part- 
ner, and  patronizing  the  whole  affair  most  emphatically, 
—  what  good  was  he  getting  out  of  it  all,  Breese  asked 
himself.  And  Malachite  the  bumptious,  and  Fennex  the 
bold,  and  Goldie,  sitting  statuesquely  with  his  arms 
folded,  —  Breese  was  glancing  at  them  all  in  a  casual 
way,  when  Miss  Pinckney  stopped  before  him,  holding  up 
a  little  bell,  which  tinkled  as  she  shook  its  ribbon.  He 
looked  behind  him  to  see  for  whom  she  meant  it ;  but  she 
said,  — 

"  Mr.  Breese,  Mr.  Breese!  will  you  not  dance?  You 
shall  not  stand  idle  here  any  longer ! ' ' 

"Thanks,  very  much;  but  I  don't  dance,"  he  said, 
feeling  confused,  as  he  saw  the  whole  room  watching  to 
see  whom  the  gay  Southern  beauty  would  take  out. 

"  No,  really?  I'm  very  sorry,"  she  said.  "  Are  you 
joking?"  she  asked,  turning  back  as  she  started  to  go 
away. 

"  I  assure  you  no,"  he  said  ;  and  as  he  held  up  a  nega- 
tive hand,  and  seemed  truly  uncomfortable  at  being  made 
conspicuous,  Miss  Pinckney  sailed  away  with  her  tinkling 
beU. 

Breese  shortly  turned  on  his  heel,  made  his  respects  to 
Miss  Fayerweather,  had  a  few  words  with  Professor  and 
Mrs.  Darby  in  passing,  and  was  going  up  stairs  for  his 
coat,  when  Mr.  Gayton  turned  to  him,  and  said,  — 

"  Going  down  to  the  square,  Mr.  Breese?  I  will  give 
you  a  lift,  if  you  like.  — Time  for  such  a  gay  3'oung  bud  as 
I  to  be  shutting  up  for  the  night,  eh,  professor?  —  Good- 
night, good-night,  Mrs.  Darb}-.  —  Mrs.  Fayerweather,  a 
great  party,  a  magnifique  party!  —  I  congratulate  you- 
congratulate  Jack  for  me  ;  many  happy  returns  all  round 1 
Did  you  see  me  on  the  floor?  Great  swell,  eh?  Don't 


HIS  HAKVABD   DAYS.  305 

let  my  youngster  dance  till  prayer-time  !  that's  all  I  have 
to  say.  —  By-by,  Charlie,  by-by.  Come  and  see  a  fellow 
when  you  can  !  —  Ah !  thanks,  I  don't  care  if  I  do  ;  I'll 
smoke  it,  going  in."  And  with  such  garrulous  talk, 
which  had  been  kept  up  the  entire  evening,  only  we  had 
not  the  chance  of  hearing  him,  the  old  philosopher  bowed 
himself  away,  and  was  soon  muffled  up  for  his  ride  to 
town. 

"  Going  to  walk  down?  "  asked  Albemarle  of  Breese, 
in  the  dressing-room. 

"Hammersmith's  uncle  is  going  to  give  me  a  lift,  I 
believe,"  said  Breese. 

"  Conceited  idiot !"  thought  Albemarle.  "  Getting  to 
be  such  a  swell,  that  he'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  rest 
of  us  soon !  Commend  me  to  &  parvenu  for  airs." 

"Eh,  Albemarle,"  said  the  "Duke,"  coming  up, 
"JTOU  leaving  too?  Go  with  us!  Gad,  I  think  we  can 
all  squeeze  in!  I'm  a  light  weight,  you  know!"  And 
donning  a  great-coat,  whose  dimensions  gave  the  lie  to  his 
joke,  he  led  the  way  down  stairs.  The  three  were  soon 
bowling  towards  town  over  the  frosty  ground,  at  a  spank- 
ing gait,  the  eldest  rattling  on  about  the  party,  Albe- 
marle thinking  him  a  good  deal  of  an  old  humbug,  and 
Breese  listening  with  somewhat  alarmed  amusement  to 
the  "  Duke's  "  rather  free  criticism  of  different  people  at 
the  party. 

The  bonbon  figure  was  in  progress  as  the  three  had 
come  down  stairs  ;  its  light  explosions  and  small  cannon- 
ades filling  the  rooms  with  a  pretty  tumult  of  noise  and 
sham  fear.  It  was  as  nothing,  however,  to  the  tumult  and 
doubt  Thich  were  filling  Breese's  mind,  and  upsetting  the 
tranquil  pose  of  his  old  opinions,  as  the  "  Duke  "  stopped 
^his  coupe  in  Harvard  Square,  and  Breese  and  Albemarle 
separated  to  go  to  their  rooms. 

But  Gen.  Hammersmith  and  his  party  went  skirmish- 


306  HAMMERSMITH: 

ing  far  into  the  morning,  with  all  the  bright  allies  that 
fresh  hearts  and  spirits,  happy  faces,  and  the  joj-ous  time 
of  life,  can  give.  Those  who  will  may  follow  them  in 
imagination,  winding  their  pretty  ribbons  through  the 
night,  and  flashing  defiance  in  the  face  of  grief  and  care, 
sickness  and  failure.  Ah,  that  all  this  freshness  must  fade, 
and  this  gay  life  put  on  its  weeds !  Those  who  would 
rather  may  follow  Breese,  the  successful  scholar  of  the 
da}r,  the  strong,  self-centred  man,  as  he  had  been  called 
this  evening,  and  imagine,  if  they  may,  the  rack  on  which 
his  cherished  ideals  are  stretched. 

Was  she  right?  Was  there  danger  of  his  becoming 
selfish  and  narrow,  cold  and  unlovable,  if  he  kept  to  his 
lonely  career?  Was  it  all  a  failure,  this  strenuous  re- 
solve to  which  he  had  lived  thus  far?  Or  were  these 
frisky  mates  of  his  in  the  right,  and  he  all  wrong?  Poor 
simple  questioner,  as  many  simple  questioners  before  him 
have  lived,  and  racked  their  brains  with  doubt,  and  yet 
lived  on!  Is  no  questioning  good,  then?  "What  does 
it  all  amount  to,  this  studj'ing  so  awfully  hard?  "  as  Miss 
Pinckney  had  asked  him.  Was  he  to  be  separated  for- 
ever from  his  fellow  men  and  women  by  some  hard  barrier 
of  Ins  own  making?  And  why  did  everybody  labor  to 
convince  him  that  all  his  pet  doctrines  were  founded  in 
sand? 

You  miserably  correct,  who  have  had  no  temptations  to 
wander,  and  so  shall  have  no  praise, — in  this  place  at 
least ;  3*ou  drivelling  dandies,  who  have  had  no  heroic 
longings,  and  so  cannot  so  much  as  imagine  a  man  in 
Breese's  frame  of  mind ;  you  tape-and-yard-stick  men, 
trained  to  conformity,  and  never  daring  even  to  try  the 
strength  of  your  chains ;  all  vou  who  are  satisfied  with 
the  "  mush  of  concession,  instead  of  a  little  manly  resist- 
ance," as  Breese's  Emerson  saj's,  — may  pass  Breese  by, 
or  call  him  a  most  uncomfortable  fellow  to  have  around, 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  307 

—  as  you  probably  will.  Let  it  be  so!  At  the  corner 
bookshop  you  shall  buy  for  a  dime  much  prim  heroic 
monoton}".  Go  buy !  I  am  not  to  blame  that  Hammer- 
smith's life  touched,  for  a  certain  arc  of  its  circle,  upon 
this  bizarre  man  Breese  ;  I  am  not  to  blame  that  he  hap- 
pened in  Hammersmith's  class.  If  there  be  any  who 
feel  that  a  young  man's  doubts  and  longings,  trials  and 
juvenile  struggles,  are  the  making  of  a  stalwart  man- 
hood, let  them  come  with  us  a  while,  and  s,ee  what  the 
outcome  of  this  case  shall  be.  And  if  Breese  makes  an 
anthropological  study  of  an  innocent  merry-making,  and 
would  apply  the  lens  of  science  to  everj^body  about  him, 
let  us,  too,  however  cursorily,  follow  his  lead,  and  study 
the  student. 

One  youngster  at  the  party,  paired  for  the  evening  with 
the  j'ounger  Miss  Barlow,  and  radiant,  as  his  own  name 
implied,  deserves  mention,  if  only  out  of  that  respect 
which  we  owe  an  old  friend  met  after  a  lapse  of  tune. 

When  Breese' s  eye  roamed  around  the  parlors,  scan- 
ning the  company,  it  saw,  but  instantly  left  (as  the  man 
of  the  lens  might  discard  an  imperfect  beetle,  let  us  say), 
the  glowing  features  of  Ruddiman, — Bob,  he  of  the 
green  jacket  and  youthful  bibulous  habit,  now  a  Harvard 
junior,  and  basking  in  florid  happiness. 

A  ruse  of  Ruddiman  the  father  was  this ;  for  when 
that  pathetic  affair  of  the  donkey  had  taken  place,  and 
the  Yale  authorities  had  decided  that  it  was  best  for  all  of 
that  stripe  to  be  sent  beyond  their  borders,  the  parental 
Ruddiman,  banker  and  broker,  No.  51  Wall  Street,  was  DO 
little  exercised  in  mind  as  to  the  career  of  his  young 
hopeful.  Bob's  mind  had  not  shown  that  fine  edge,  or 
that  penetrating  point,  which  might  enable  him  to  plough 
his  way  in  a  learned  profession,  so  called ;  nor  were  his 
mathematics  of  that  accurate  character  that  he  might 


308  HAMMERSMITH: 

safely  be  intrusted  with  a  counter  in  his  father's  jingling 
office,  and  with  access  to  the  parental  monej'-bags  in  the 
big  vault  under  the  stairs.  Reports  reaching  the  Ruddi- 
mans,  however,  of  Hammersmith's  success  and  creditable 
progress  at  Cambridge,  there  came  the  query,  Why  should 
not  Bob  be  despatched  to  that  ancient  seat  of  learning, 
with  ample  largess  from  the  money-bags  before  mentioned, 
and  orders  to  engage  the  most  expensive  tutor  that  the 
place  coulcMurnish,  as  coach? 

The  youthful  Ruddiman  was  not  of  that  eclectic  nature 
that  he  must  needs  stand  on  the  name  or  location  of  ,his 
Alma  Mater,  so  long  as  his  rather  erratic  disposition  could 
be  borne  with,  and  his  vast  yearning  for  knowledge  of 
every  abstruse  description  could  be  gratified.  And  al- 
though the  college  from  which  his  donkey  experience  had 
driven  him  forth  commuted  his  sentence  of  expulsion  to 
one  of  a  year's  suspension,  —  for  golden  reasons  best 
known  to  managers  of  such  institutions,  —  Ruddiman 
pere  was  disposed  to  try  fresh  fields  and  different  enclos- 
ures for  his  capering  scion. 

So  it  came  about,  that  Tutor  Philpot  of  Cambridge  was 
enabled  to  bleed  the  young  Ruddiman,  and  tap  the  pater- 
nal money-bags,  for  a  too  brief  period ;  that  sundry 
haberdashers  and  stable-men  in  and  around  the  university 
town  had  a  smah1  rill  from  the  same  golden  source  tric- 
kling into  their  money-drawers  for  a  much  longer  space  of 
time  ;  and  that  at  last,  with  much  tribulation,  and  by  the 
aid  of  the  Fates,  Bob  was  through  his  fresh-junior  exami- 
nations, and  (losing  a  year  in  course,  to  be  sure)  was 
admitted  a  member  of  Hammersmith's  class. 

Whether  Hammersmith  was  pleased,  or  not,  at  this  sud- 
den re-union  with  his  old  neighbor  Ruddiman  I  have  never 
heard  liim  say.  But  as  the  youth  in  question  had  retained 
a  commendable  admiration  for  Mr.  Tom,  ?\nce  the  day 
when  he  had  thrashed  young  Mangul  Wurzel,  and  thai 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  309 

later  summer,  -when  they  and  poor  Penhallow  had  beaten 
the  little  hamlet  into  such  a  froth  of  excitement,  —  an 
admiration  which  Tom's  late  career  had  tended  to  increase 
rather  than  diminish,  —  there  was  considerable  genuine 
heartiness  in  Hammersmith's  welcome  of  the  young  fellow. 
And  Ruddiman,  to  say  truth,  was  much  altered  for  the 
better  since  the  earlier  days  when  we  saw  him  before, 
though  the  permeating  effect  of  the  donkey  intimacy  was 
destined  never  to  be  quite  outgrown.  Hammersmith, 
then,  took  him  kindly  by  the  hand  when  he  came  up  to 
Cambridge,  a  classmate  (as  he  honestly  and  frankly  took 
everybody  by  the  hand  who  deserved  his  friendship)  ; 
inducted  him  into  many  of  the  mysteries,  and  some  of 
the  societies,  of  the  place  ;  and  was  particularly  careful  to 
range  him  well  in  the  matter  of  Cambridge  families, 
divining  that  their  influence  would  be  peculiarly  benefi- 
cial to  the  young  man  at  this  period  in  his  life. 

Ruddiman,  indeed,  was  vastly  grateful  for  all  this  kind- 
ness on  Hammersmith's  part ;  wrote  home  the  most  glow- 
ing accounts  of  Tom's  position  and  fame  at  the  university 
(retailing  many  things  which  Hammersmith  would  much 
have  preferred  should  be  omitted,  if  he  had  had  the  vise 
of  his  letters)  ;  and  in  a  thousand  ways  developed  a 'facile 
devotion  and  enthusiasm  for  Tom,  which  showed  him  to 
be  a  fellow  capable  of  a  certain  ardent  friendship,  if  he 
was  not  a  commanding  genius. 

He  had  fallen  back  a  year,  to  be  sure ;  but  what  was 
that  to  a  youth  hungering  and  thirsting  after  knowledge ! 
He  had  "  gained  immensely  by  the  rest  from  his  severe 
studies  at  New  Haven,"  as  his  mother  was  accustomed  to 
remark  to  s}Tnpathizing  friends  and  neighbors ;  and  who 
shall  dispute  a  mother's  verdict  on  her  offspring?  "We 
shall  be  considerably  disappointed,  then,  if  we  do  not  see 
him  soon  climbing  to  the  very  top  of  the  rank-list,  and 
'  adding  still  more  golden  lustre  to  the  Ruddiman  name  by 


310  HAMMEKSMITH: 

virtue  of  that  intellectual  rest  of  which  his  mother  speaks. 
But  disappointment  is  one  of  the  disguised  blessings  of 
life,  which  take  us  quite  unawares  ;  and  we  shall  do  well 
to  be  prepared  for  it  in  lluddiinau's  case,  as  always. 


HIS  HABVAKD  DAYS.  311 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AN   OLD   FRIEND   ON  THE   WESTERN  HORIZON. 
"  He  that  is  down  can  fall  no  lower."  —  BUTLEH,  Hudibras. 

IT  was  well  for  Hammersmith  that  the  Fayerweather 
party  came  off  just  as  it  did :  it  was  well  for  him,  if 
he  wished  to  enjoy  it,  as  he  continued  to,  dancing  far 
into  the  morning,  and  returning  to  his  rooms  —  plastered 
with  stars  and  ribbons,  and  other  bedizenment,  like  a 
field-marshal — just  as  a  very  dissipated  old  moon,  with  a 
fearful  leer  on  its  twisted  face,  was  rising  over  the  house- 
tops. 

For,  on  the  Monday  morning  following,  he  received 
from  the  hand  of  an  important  senior  a  solemn  missive, 
much  bedaubed  with  reddest  of  sealing-wax.  By  noon 
he  had  carried  a  number  of  books,  papers,  and  ink-boMes 
to  the  rooms  of  McGregor,  in  Holworthy ;  and  by  mid- 
afternoon  he  was  busily  engaged  on  those  grim,  remorseless 
rites  which  lead  up  to  the  stately  ceremonies,  on  an  ulti- 
mate Friday  evening,  of  the  Hasty  Pudding  Club,  of 
sweetest  memory  in  more  than  metaphorical  sense. 

It  is  an  elaborate,  satisfying  initiation,  over  which  the 
present  chronicler  would  gladly  linger,  were  he  not  stared 
in  the  face  by  the  unhappy  fate  of  some  who  have  dared, 
in  times  gone  by,  to  reveal  to  outer  barbarians  the  secrets 
and  inner  machinery  of  the  dear  old  society.  Suffice  it, 
th.at,  before  nightfall,  it  was  known  throughout  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  university,  that  Freemantle,  Hammer- 
£mith,  and  Pinckney  were  initiating  for  the  Pudding ;  that 


312  HAMMEKSMITH : 

these  young  gentlemen  appeared  running  excitedly  to  and 
from  meals  and  recitations  for  the  space  of  five  days, 
making  painfully  perfect  recitations  and  painfully  hastj7, 
silent  sojourns  at  their  boarding-houses,  chaffed  the  while 
by  expectant  classmates ;  that  on  Friday  evening  they 
appeared  going  to  the  club-rooms  in  elaborate  evening- 
dress  ;  that  varied  bursts  of  applause  and  the  noise  of 
a  curious  metallic  rapping  were  heard  issuing  from  the 
windows  of  the  old  hall  during  the  evening  ;  and  that  on 
the  following  day  appeared  in  Mr.  Tom's  room,  over  his 
door,  a  mysterious  strip  of  black  cambric,  with  "  T.  Ham- 
mersmith ' '  in  white  letters  upon  it,  —  a  badge  which  has 
been  cherished  fondly  by  that  reminiscent  youngster,  and 
has  travelled  with  him  many  a  mile  in  various  countries 
since  the  night  that  it  first  greeted  him  returning  to  his 
room.  But  more  than  enough  has  been  said ;  and  the 
chronicler  already  begins  to  quake  in  his  distant  exile. 

So  Hammersmith  came  to  be  received  into  the  ancient 
brotherhood,  hobnobbed  with  the  upper-classmen  even 
more  familiarly  than  before  in  the  other  societies  to  which 
he  belonged,  and  wrote  off  an  ecstatic  letter  to  his  uncle 
Gayfcm,  declaring  it  the  greatest  affair  that  he  had  ever 
heard  of,  "  nothing  like  it  in  all  the  world,"  and  calling  it 
by  many  other  enthusiastic  bo3T's  names.  In  succeeding 
weeks  the  rest  of  the  first  ten  from  his  class  were  initiated, 
Goldie  the  first  of  the  lot.  In  due  time,  the  management 
of  the  club  was  transferred  to  Hammersmith  and  the 
others  ;  "  Senior  Farewell "  took  place  ;  and  Tom's  class 
was  fairly  installed  in  the  first  great  organization  which 
tied  them  with  their  senior  year,  and  caused  them  to  turn 
their  eyes  more  anxiously  than  ever  to  that  final  period  of 
their  academic  career. 

And  Tom's  regular  college-work  all  this  time?  Lord- 
Chancellor  Thurlow  had  a  division  of  Ms  labors,  which  may 
apply  tolerably  well  to  this  period  of  Tom's  life,  as  to  that 


HIS   HARVAKD   DAYS.  313 

of  man}'  another  young  fellow  of  his  temperament  in  the 
full  tide  of  university  enjoyment.  "  A  part  of  my  work  I 
do,  a  part  does  itself,  and  a  part  I  leave  undone,"  he  used 
to  say.  If  Hammersmith  never  again  duplicated  that 
famous  examination  of  his  freshman  year ;  if  he  never 
again  carried  home  a  set  of  prize  books,  as  at  the  end  of 
lu's  lirst  year,  which  his  mother  and  sister  certainly 
thought  the  very  finest  and  most  honorable  testimonial 
that  the  college  had  ever  bestowed,  —  his  success  thus  far  in 
his  university  life  had  been  as  creditable  as  most  of  the 
men  with  whom  he,  as  a  young  man,  naturally  compared 
himself.  Breese,  Albemarle,  Totman, — he  didn't  care  a 
fig  for  their  high  rank  and  academic  honors  !  "Were  not 
head  scholars  proverbially  left  behind  in  the  race  of  life  ? 
And  why  should  he  not  follow  his  natural  inclinations,  so 
long  as  he  was  sure  that  they  were  innocent  and  natural 
(to  use  Breese's  own  words),  and  enjoy  the  fresh  and 
pulsing  life  about  him?  Was  there  a  prospect  that  he 
should  ever  be  called  on  to  use  all  the  rubbish  of  Greek 
and  Latin,  mathematic  formulas  and  chemical  signs,  with 
which  the  first  men  of  the  class  were  loading  their  heads? 
How  fondly  wo  cherish  our  pet  indulgences,  and  excuse 
ourselves  withal !  And  Mr.  Tom,  pursuing  his  own  course 
pretty  selfishly,  president  of  the  cosey  little  A.  d.,  vice- 
president  of  the  Pudding,  second-bass  in  the  Glee  Club 
and  chapel  choir,  round-arm  bowler  for  the  Cricket  Club, 
and  general  favorite  in  Cambridge  society  besides,  was 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  hundreds  who  have  gone 
before  him  and  shall  follow.  He  did  his  work  as  squarely 
as  the  average,  obtained  the  respect  and  often  the  admira- 
tion of  the  professors  and  tutors  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact,  and  disarmed  much  criticism  and  man}*  "  effas- 
pinating  opticks  of  envy,"  to  use  the  words  of  old  Chari- 
ton,  by  a  manly  bearing  and  generous  temper,  coupled 
'with  a  high  spirit,  and  an  impulsiveness  common  to  his 


314  HAMMERSMITH: 

race.  We  are  not  presenting  him  to  you  as  a  paragon,  or ' 
as  a  pattern  even  for  ingenuous  youth  to  imitate,  but 
rather  as  a  }Toung  gentleman  who  has  been  singularly 
thrown  on  his  own  resources,  who  has  never  turned  his 
back  upon  a  friend,  or  courted  a  mean  popularity,  and 
who,  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand  perplexities  and  trials, 
has.  never  lost  sight  of  the  sturdy  manhood  with  which  he 
had  started,  and  which  will  yet  carry  him  through,  please 
God. 

It  may  be  hard  to  confess,  too,  but  yet  it  is  undoubt- 
edly true,  that  his  uncle  Gayton  was  right  when  he  said 
that  his  unlucky  Boggle  experience,  and  his  intimacy 
with  my  Lord  Tuffcon,  would  not  operate  against  him,  if 
the  true  facts  in  these  two  episodes  were  once  known. 
Shall  I  say  that  all  the  exaggerated  stories  which  the  fer- 
tile freshman  brain  had  brought  forth  only  piqued  the 
curiosity  and  the  admiration '  which  followed  Hammer- 
smith for  along  time  afterwards?  Shut  up  the  page,  and 
call  it  a  slander,  my  gentle  miss,  living  on  in  a  calm 
and  sinless  peace  most  delightful  to  behold,  or  you,  my 
equally  gentle  reverend  sir,  filling  the  world  with  your 
little  theorems  of  men,  but  reflect  if  it  be  not  so,  and 
if  a  dash  of  the  devil,  and  a  reputation  for  tremendous 
powers  of  iniquitj'  (even  if  it  be  an  unfounded  reputa- 
tion), are  not  a  wofully  strong  attraction  in  a  man 
otherwise  not  much  unlike  the  ordinary  Tom,  Dick,  and 
Harry  of  the  world.  And  while  I  have  once  and  again 
declared  that  Hammersmith  has  been  grossly  maligned 
in  the  matters  above  mentioned,  that  while  he  may 
have  been  infinitely  silly,  and  a  dupe  of  the  most  vulgar 
coquetry  and  a  remarkably  well-laid  plot,  his  declaration 
to  his  uncle  was  honest,  and  his  honor  and  good  name  as 
clear  as  sunlight,  I  have  also  declared,  and  do  here 
again  maintain,  that,  however  much  may  be  said  to  the 
contrary,  all  this  bitter  slander  and  foolish  report  only 


HIS   HAKVARD  DAYS.  315 

added  to  the  piquancy  of  his  reputation,  and  to  the  num- 
ber of  times  that  he  was  proclaimed  a  dear,  delightful 
fellow  by  various  young  creatures,  to  impugn  whose 
motives  would  be  to  slander  angels.  There  was  a  pro- 
found fact,  if  a  bitter  acknowledgment,  in  the  reply  of 
M.  de  Montrond,  when  reproached  with  his  attachment 
to  TallejTand:  "Heavens!  How  could  one  help  liking 
him?  He  is  so  wicked  !  " 

When  Hammersmith  and  the  rest  of  the  Pudding  ten 
were  proceeding  to  elect  other  members  from  their  own 
class,  there  had  suddenly  occurred  one  of  those  dead- 
locks to  which  congresses  of  men  are  subject,  and  which 
seemed  likely  to  block  their  wheels  for  an  indefinite 
period.  Hammersmith  and  four  of  his  friends  had  set 
their  hearts  on  securing  the  election  of  Breese  into  their 
society :  the  other  five  would  have  none  of  him.  High 
words  followed,  excited  sessions  of  the  Council  of  Ten, 
heated  canvassings  outside  and  inside  the  club,  frequent 
rumors  throughout  the  college  of  this  and  that  settlement 
and  issue  from  the  entanglement.  Everybody  soon  learned 
the  reason  why  no  elections  followed.  Breese  himself 
was  kept  posted  by  the  tragic  Ruddiman  on  all  the  wild 
gossip  in  circulation.  The  dead-lock  seemed  likely  to 
last  forever,  till  the  name  of  Ladbroke  was  presented  by 
the  opponents  of  Breese ;  when  Hammersmith  and  his 
party  seized  upon  this  name,  to  which  they  were  equally 
opposed,  as  a  means  of  effecting  a  compromise. 

More  excited  canvassing,  many  days  more  of  club- 
meetings, —  the  result  of  which  was,  that  a  compromise 
ticket  of  some  twenty  or  more,  including  both  Breese  and 
Ladbroke,  was  carried  throug'i  late  one  night.  Immedi- 
ately afterwards  Hammersmith  rushed  triumphantly  to 
,the  rooms  of  Breese,  to  whom  he  had  been  careful  to  say 
nothing  thus  far  of  the  negotiations,  though  fearful  that 
'  the  news  of  their  progress  might  reach  him  otherwise. 


316  HAMMEKSMITH: 

"Hurrah,  old  boy!  Let  me  congratulate  j'ou,"  he 
shouted.  "Pudding  man,  b}-  Jove!  though  I'm  run- 
ning a  dreadful  risk  in  saying  any  thing  to  you  about  it 
before  yon  are  officially  notified." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Breese.  "Missouri  Compromise  car- 
ried through  at  last  ?  ' ' 

"What  in  thunder  do  you  mean  by  'Missouri  Com- 
promise? '  "  asked  Tom,  checking  his  enthusiasm  a  bit  as 
he  saw  Breese's  cold  reception  of  the  news. 

"  I  mean  to  inquire  if  the  estimable  Ladbroke  and  I 
have  been  put  in  the  scales  together,  and  found  to  balance 
each  other." 

"  O  gammon,  Breese  !"  said  Tom  excitedly.  "Don't 
look  at  it  in  that  light !  I  tell  you  the  best  fellows  in  the 
ten  were  anxious  to  have  you  in  from  the  start ;  and  we 
had  to  swallow  Ladbroke,  because  his  party  was  so  stub- 
born, that's  all." 

"I  don't  see  that  that  alters  the  fact  that  one  objec- 
tionable man  has  been  let  in  to  offset  another  equally 
distasteful.  Isn't  that  about  it?  "  asked  Breese. 

"  But  confound  it !  Forget  all  that !  Why,  3-011  don't 
mean  to  say  that  you  are  not  glad  you're  in,  after  all !  " 

"In  what?" 

"In  the  Pudding,  of  course!  Didn't  I  say  that  you 
have  been  elected  ? ' ' 

"But  a  man  isn't  a  member  till  he  has  signified  lu's 
willingness  to  join,  is  he?" 

"Look  here,  Breese,  what  under  Heaven  is  the  row? 
I  propose  your  name '  willingly,  gladly.  Some  fellow  who 
doesn't  happen  to  like  you  as  well  as  I  (and  we  all  have 
enemies)  objects.  M}'  friends  stand  up  for  3*011 ;  the  other 
crowd  gets  its  back  up.  We  fight  away  for  several  days 
and  at  last  succeed  in  putting  the  thing  through  by  ac- 
cepting an  insignificant  fellow  that  we  do  not  like.  You 
don't  say  that  you  are  going  to  repay  me  for  all  this  work 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  317 

DV  refusing  to  join  ?  It  would  be  putting  me  in  a  pretty 
box!" 

"I'm  sure  I  am  as  grateful  to  you,  Hammersmith,  as 
though  every  thing  had  gone  smoothly  from  the  start. 
Your  kindness  in  the  matter  is  the  only  thing  that  makes 
me  feel  like  saying,  'Yes.'  But  I  should  despise  myself, 
I  should  not  enjoy  nry  membership,  I  should  feel  that  half 
the  men  in  the  club  regarded  me  as  an  interloper,  I  "  — 

"But  you're  not  an  interloper,"  said  Tom.  "You 
are  elected  squarety  and  honestly.  Every  one  of  the 
twenty  might  feel  exactly  the  same  as  you  do,  with  equal 
propriety.  And  I'm  sure  you'd  find  it  hard  work  to  make 
any  of  them  call  themselves  interlopers." 

"I  can't  help  that,"  said  Breese.  "I  am  not  respon- 
sible for  another  man's  view  of  the  matter.  I  only  know 
how  it  strikes  me." 

"But  if  j'ou  only  knew  how  unanimous  the  election 
was  !  "  pleaded  Tom. 

"  Unanimous  on  Ladbroke  and  me  !  "  said  Breese. 

"  Yes,  and  the  whole  ticket !  And  if  I  could  only  tell 
you  what  we  do  up  there,  and  what  a  grand  old  society  it 
is!" 

"  You're  very  kind,  Hammersmith.  Don't  think  I'm 
speaking  against  you,  my  dear  fellow,  or  meaning  to  be 
ungrateful  for  what  you  meant  as  the  greatest  kindness, 
I've  no  doubt.  If  you  had  said  a  word  to  me  before, 
about  this,  I  might  have  told  you  then,  as  now,  that  I 
can't  think  of  joining." 

"  But  the  rules  of  the  society,"  began  Hammersmith. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  said  Breese.     "I  know  it  was 

not  possible  for  you  to  speak  to  me   of  it  beforehand ; 

neither  is  it  possible  for  me  to  do  what  my  own  club- 

.    rules  —  a  little  society  of  one,  that  I've  had  charge  of 

'  for  about  twenty-two  years  now — will  not  allow.     It'a 

no  use  trying  to  make  oil  and  water  unite,  HammersTu'th. 


818  HAMMERSMITH : 

There's  a  set  here  that  never  would  have  any  thing  to  dc 
with  me,  if  their  own  salvation  depended  upon  me  —  and 
Heaven  be  praised  that  it  does  not !  Perhaps  I've  been  a 
fool  in  trying  to  keep  up  an  interest  in  their  life  and  their 
sports,  and  in  going  out  at  all  from  the  quiet  seclusion 
in  which  I  used  to  live.  I  had  an  idea  that  a  man  was 
better  for  joining,  as  far  as  possible,  in  the  interests  about 
him ;  and  now  I  begin  to  see  that  it  is  all  a  waste  of  tune. 
I  might  as  well  go  back  into  my  shell,  and  give  up  the 
attempt  to  unite  a  studious  life  with  things  that  have  no 
possible  natural  relation  to  it.  If  I  tiad  .a  little  more 
money,  and  were  a  little  more  of  a  swell,  I  might  have  a 
different  feeling  in  the  matter." 

So  they  argued  on ;  Hammersmith  doing  his  best  to 
convince  Breese  that  he  was  wrong,  that  he  was  slander- 
ing many  very  good  fellows,  who  would  be  glad,  mighty 
glad,  to  see  him  in  the  club,  Breese  insisting  that  he 
could  not  alter  Ms  decision,  until  at  last  Hammersmith 
gave  it  all  up,  and  rose  to  go,  not  in  the  best  of  moods. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Hammersmith,"  said  Breese 
warmly,  coming  forward,  and  holding  out  his  hand, 
"don't  let  us  be  separated  for  this  small  matter! 
You'll  shake  hands?" 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  said  Tom,  grasping  and  wringing 
the  great  hand  of  Breese.  "  But  I'm  disappointed,  Breese, 
I'm  bitterly  disappointed.  I  had  anticipated  so  much 
pleasure  in  seeing  you  up  there  among  us  !  " 

"  Believe  me,  I'm  infinitely  more  sorry  than  }*ou  can 
possibl}' be,"  said  Breese.  "But  jrou  are  the  last  man 
to  wish  me  to  do  a  thing  that  I  think  would  belittle  me  in 
my  own  eyes,  Hammersmith." 

"Certainly:  }'ou' re  right,  I've  no  doubt, — :from  your 
stand-point  at  least ;  only  I'm  sorry  that  you  have  suet 
a  stand-point." 

"  But  I  have,"  said  Breese,  "  and  it  cannot  be  helped 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  319 

Thank  you  again,  Hammersmith,  for  all  you've  done  for 
me,  not  only  in  this  matter,  but  since  we  have  met  here  in 
Cambridge.  No,  don't  say  yon  have  done  nothing !  I 
know  better ;  and  I  know,  that,  if  you  were  to  turn  your 
back  on  me,  I  should  be  lonely  and  miserable  indeed." 

"  O  Lord  !  "  said  Tom.  "  No  danger  of  that,  old  fel- 
low !"  And,  pressing  his  hand  again  warmly,  he  went 
out,  more  perplexed  than  ever  at  the  enigma  Breese,  not 
daring  to  think  of  the  ridiculous  position  in  which  he  him- 
self would  be  left,  after  ah1  these  weeks  of  struggle  and 
this  laborious  compromise,  and  not  reflecting,  that,  if  he 
had  been  in  Breese's  place,  he  would  have  been  as  stub- 
born and  set  in  his  view  as  Breese,  if  not  more  so.  It  is 
impossible  to  project  one's  self  completely  into  another's 
position  and  frame  of  mind.  Tom  could  not  conceive  of 
a  man  with  so  delicate  a  sense  of  the  proprieties  and  his 
own  dignity  as  to  allow  them  to  interfere  with  his  personal 
pleasure  and  his  membership  of  the  Hasty  Pudding  Club. 
But  then,  Hammersmith,  with  his  eager  appetite  for  enjoy- 
ment, was  not  Breese,  with  his  equally  keen  pursuit  of 
quite  other  objects,  and  his  delicate  balancing  of  every 
slight  matter  in  the  sensitive  scales  of  his  ideal  nature ; 
and  the  two  could  never,  by  the  slightest  chance,  be 
brought  to  weigh  their  actions  in  exactly  the  same  poise 
of  mind.  What  two  men  can? 

The  wonder,  excitement,  perplexity,  aroused  by  this 
ultimatum  of  Breese's,  not  only  among  the  Pudding 
members,  but  throughout  the  undergraduates,  were  some- 
thing unprecedented.  "What  a  fool!  "  "  Catch  Lad- 
broke  following  suit !  "  "I  should  think  Hammersmith 
would  throw  him  over  now  ''  "  Oh,  hang  him !  he  only 
does  it  to  be  odd  !  "  —  such  was  the  reception  that  he  had 
among  the  men  about  him,  for  the  most  part.  More  cal- 
culating heads  saw  in  him  a  man  to  lead  the  opposition  to 
.ie  Pudding  in  the  coming  class-elections  of  next  year ; 


320  HAMMEKSMITH : 

and  the  anti-Pudding  element,  always  strong,  and  waging 
usually  a  Guelph-and-Ghibelline  war,  took  him  up  at 
once.  Rival  societies  applied  to  him.  But  no,  he  would 
join  no  society.  He  was  very  much  obliged  ;  but  he  had 
no  intention  of  joining  any  more  college  societies.  The 
Institute  of  1770  had  been  enough  to  show  him  that  they 
were  "  mostty  a  farce,"  he  said.  "  And  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you,  gentlemen  ;  but  I  cannot  join  you." 

"  What  a  fool  to  think  of  refusing  to  go  into  the  Pud- 
ding! "  said  Wormley,  in  his  senior  window-seat. 

"Yes,  by  Jove!  You  wouldn't  have  been  troubled 
that  way,  if  they  had  asked  you,  would  3-011,  "Wormley  ?  " 
asked  his  chum  Rubbadub,  smoking  a  pipe  just  too  long 
to  be  lighted  by  himself.  "  Here,  old  boy,  please  be 
good  enough  to  light  me,  will  3*011?"  giving  him  a  match. 

So  Hammersmith  failed  in  his  well-meant  wish  to  have 
Breese  with  him  in  the  Pudding,  and,  despite  his  efforts 
to  the  contrary,  found  himself  slipping  into  the  general 
quadrangle  verdict,  that  Breese  was  immensely  silly  to 
split  hairs  on  such  a  trifle,  and  cut  himself  aloof  from 
what  might  have  been  an  extremely  diverting  and  useful 
association  for  him  in  many  wa3Ts.  But  the  world  sur- 
vived the  shock  of  this  startling  event,  which  had  shaken 
the  smaller  college  sphere  to  its  centre ;  and  the  nine- 
da3's'  wonder  gave  place  to  others  equally  extraordinary. 
Breese,  who  had  been  the  least  disturbed  of  any  con- 
cerned, settled  down  into  the  even  tenor  of  his  wa3',  be- 
guiled 01113-  113-  occasional  excursions  into  Cambridge 
socirty,  to  which  the  Fa3-erweather  party  had  been  the 
prelude. 

"  Mr.  Hammersmith,"  said  Miss  Pinckney  archly,  at 
one  of  the  small  routs  of  the  latter  part  of  winter,  —  a 
mixture  of  feminine  working  for  the  poor,  music,  dancing, 
and  other  diversions  which  easily  suggest  themselves  te 
inventive  young  minds, —  "  Mr.  Hammersmith,  3'ou  must 
be  an  awfully  wicked  man." 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  321 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Tom,  putting  down  a 
piece  of  music  which  he  was  fingering  by  the  piano,  and 
looking  inquiring. 

"  You  must  be  a  very  wicked  man,  I  say.  I  have 
heard  such  a  funny  story  about  you !  Did  you  really  run 
away  with  somebody  last  year  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed  !  "  said  Tom. 

"  And  did  her  father  catch  you  just  as  you  were  going 
into  somebody's  office  to  get  married?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Tom,  "true  as  gospel." 

' '  And  did  you  have  a  duel  with  him  ?  "What  fun  it  must 
have  been!  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  had  a  duel  with  him,  —  on  the  common, 
parade-ground,  you  know.  Invited  the  governor  and 
suite,  mayor  and  aldermen,  and  the  whole  college,  to  wit- 
ness the  fun !  Old  party  wouldn't  stand  his  ground.  I 
chased  him  up  Beacon  Street,  up  the  State-house  steps, 
straight  up  the  State-house  dome  ;  and,  just  as  I  was  catch- 
ing his  coat-tail  on  the  verj'  top,  he  gave  a  jump  from  a 
window,  and  has  never  been  heard  from  since.  I  believe 
he  landed  somewhere  in  South  Carolina." 

| 

"  Now  3'ou're  making  fun  of  me  !  "  she  said.  "  But 
you  are  only  tiying  to  cover  it  up.  You  are  very  wicked, 
I  know  you  are ! ' ' 

"  How  do  you  know  it?  "  asked  Tom. 

"Oh!  I  shall  not  tell  you,  I  shall  not  tell  you.  But, 
del !  I  don't  mind  it.  Most  men  are  sucJi  tiresome  crea- 
tures !  " 

"Yes,  and  life  is  such  a  bore!  "  said  Tom,  imitating 
ner  languid  manner. 

"  The}'  do  nothing  but  dance  and  flirt  in  such  a  silly 
way!" 

"  In  which  they  have  such  silly,  silly  companj* !  "  added 
Tom. 

"  Mr.  Hammersmith,  you  are  very  queer.  Why  do 
A'ou  mimic  me  so  ?  " 


822  HAMMERSMITH: 

"  I  beg  y our  pardon,"  said  Tom.  "  I  was  only  trjing 
to  agree  with  }'ou.  Everybody  seems  to  know  my  own 
affairs '  so  much  better  than  I  myself  that  I  thought  I 
would  give  up  my  private  opinion,  and  side  with  them  — 
and  with  you." 

"  But  I  thought  you  would  contradict  me."  she  said. 

"  I  supposed  so  ;  consequently  I  agreed  with  you." 

"Well,  I  think  you  are  very  extraordinary,"  she  said. 
And  the  young  girl,  who  was  used  to  having  men  bow 
down  before  her,  and  meet  her  half  way  in  her  juvenile  flir- 
tations, was  quite  at  her  wits'  end  to  comprehend  this  new 
species  of  mankind,  who  treated  her  light  advances  as  so 
much  chaff. 

Miss  Fayerweather  came  forward  to  sing ;  and  Miss 
Pinckney  and  Mr.  Tom  sat  down  on  a  sofa  at  hand,  the 
brilliant  beauty  not  a  little  nettled  at  Hammersmith's 
obstinate  severity.  Hadn't  half  of  his  class  already  con- 
fessed themselves  her  slaves?  Wasn't  Ruddiman,  in  fact, 
at  this  moment,  allowing  his  young  heart  to  burst  in 
yonder  embrasure,  whence  he  saw  the  dangerous  Hammer- 
smith talking  so  earnestly  with  the  young  woman  whom 
he  worshipped  ?  Collect  j'ourself,  my  Ruddimau  ;  for  Ham- 
mersmith has  no  thought  of  trespassing  on  your  preserves, 
but  rather  is  infinitely  amused  with  the  small  deer  at  his 
side,  watching  her  artless  gambolling ! 

"Do  3'ou  hear  ever  from  j'our  friend  Mr.  Penhallow?  " 
she  asked,  when  the  murmurs  of  applause  that  followed 
Miss  Fayerweather's  song  were  ctying  out.  She  turned 
towards  him  with  an  almost  haughty  air,  which  made  Tom 
smile,  and  say  to  himself,  "Aha!  piqued,  by  Jove! 
Didn't  bring  me  down  as  she  meant,  eh?"  But  he 
answered  cooll}-,  — 

"No,  I've  not  heard  a  word  from  him  yet;  expecting 
letters  every  da}-.  His  sister  tells  me  that  he  wrote  fron: 
the  isthmus,  —  oh  !  several  months  ago  ;  and  I  am  quite 
anxious  to  hear  from  him.  Did  you  know  him?  " 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  323 

"  No.  But  my  brother  used  to  write  very  often  of  him 
—  and  of  others  among  his  friends,"  she  added,  after  a 
pause.  "He  said  he  was  such  a  nice  fellow !  " — this 
with  a  slight  nuance  of  meaning,  as  though  she  would 
imply  that  some  other  men,  whom  she  knew  and  might 
mention,  were  not  "  such  nice  fellows,"  but  were  exceed- 
ingly disagreeable  and  obstinate,  and  thoroughly  extraor- 
dinary. Hammersmith  smiled  to  himself;  and  Ruddiman, 
who  thought  that  this  thing  had  lasted  about  long  enough, 
marched  boldb/  across  the  room,  bowed  before  Miss 
Pinckney,  asked  her  for  the  dance  that  was  just  beginning, 
and  was  soon  deep  in  bliss,  whirling  about  the  room. 

"What  a  very  droll  fellow  your  friend  Mr.  Hammer- 
smith is,  Mr.  Ruddiman !  "  the  slighted  beaut}'  whis- 
pered as  they  danced.  "  I  have  never  met  so  peculiar 
a  man." 

"  I  wouldn't  trust  him  too  much,"  said  Ruddiman  the 
flashy,  who  really  thought  Hammersmith  a  most  trust- 
worthy fellow.  "  Dangerous  man !  " 

"  I  like  people  that  I  can  trust,  Mr.  Ruddiman,  don't 
you?  "  she  said.  And  he  looked  up  at  her  with  a  happy 
smile,  and,  oh,  such  a  satisfied  air !  And  she  asked  him  if 
he  were  never  coming  for  that  horseback-ride  of  which 
he  had  spoken ;  and  he  declared  —  to  dance-music  —  that 
he  should  come  the  very  next  day,  if  she  would  allow  him. 
She  said,  "I  shah"  be  so  happy!  "  and  what  a  beautiful 
horse  she  had  seen  him  riding.  And  the  h'ttle  man 
twinkled  with  pleasure,  and  continued  to  dance  faster  and 
faster,  and  kick  out  his  little  legs  in  a  manner  wonderful 
to  behold.  We  can  leave  him  and  the  rest  in  this  pleas- 
ant pastime,  beguiling  the  long-drawn  evening. 

Something  in  his  evening's  mood,  and  perhaps  the 
sight  of  Miss  Darbj-  refusing  to  dance,  and  talking  long 
with  Breese  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  made  Hammer- 
smith leave  before  supper  was  announced,  paying  his 


324  HAMMEKSMITH: 

respects  to  the  hostess   as   unobserved  as  possible,  and 
making  excuses  to  her  for  going  earty. 

He  was  very  glad  to  receive,  not  many  days  after  his 
brief  crossing  of  swords  with  Miss  Pinckney,  the  follow- 
ing merry  letter  from  his  old  chum,  Penhallow  :  — • 

SIMI  RANCIIO,  VENTURA-  Co.,  CAL.,  Feb.  23, 186-. 

MY  DEAB  OLD  FELLOW,  —  Pcccam ,  peccavi.  What  shall  I 
say  for  myself  for  letting  all  these  months  slip  by  with  never  a 
word  to  you,  my  dear  Tom  ?  My  only  excuse  is,  that  I  have  been 
in  the  saddle  for  weeks  together  now,  pegging  over  the  country  in 
every  direction,  with  Simmons  and  without  him,  and  that  I  have 
hardly  touched  pen  to  paper  since  I  struck  this  glorious  country, 
except,  of  course,  to  scratch  off  a  dutiful  line  now  and  then  to 
my  people  in  Milton.  I  shall  hope  that  you  have  seen  some  of  my 
letters  home,  describing  my  trip  out,  the  wonderful  ride  across  the 
isthmus,  my  landing  at  San  Diego,  with  a  man  named  Harrison, 
from  Philadelphia,  the  account  of  my  "bucking"  horse  Diablo, 
which  I  bought  at  San  Diego,  after  he  had  nearly  killed  me  on  the 
beach,  and  my  overland  trip  to  this  place.  I  have  not  time  to 
write  about  all  these  things  now,  at  any  rate ;  for  I  have  a  piece  of 
news  for  you. 

Whom,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  as  the  young  women  say,  do 
you  think  I  met  in  Los  Angeles  ?  We  had  come  into  the  place 
from  the  south,  through  its  lowest  and  most  un-American  quarter, 
and  were  walking  our  horses  through  the  streets,  lined  with  white 
adobe  houses,  and  were  reading  the  odd  Spanish  signs,  Panade- 
ria,  Atjuila  d'Oro,  Botica  Espailola,  and  so  on,  when  I  heard  my 
name  called,  "Peuhallow,  Penhallow!"  I  looked  around,  and 
saw  at  the  door  of  a  saloon  (the  most  frequent  institution  in  the 
country)  a  fellow  with  a  close-cropped  head,  and  long  blonde 
mustache,  wearing  the  little  white  apron  of  a  bar-tender.  He  was 
beckoning  to  me;  and,  as  I  had  not  heard  my  name  called  so 
unmistakably  for  weeks,  I  turned  my  horse,  and  went  up  to  the 
sidewalk. 

"  You  don't  know  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  have  the  advantage  of  me,  sir,  I'm  afraid,"  said  I.  But 
he  smiled ;  and  who  that  has  ever  seen  that  wily  smile  could  forget 
it?  It  was  Tuft  on,  our  old  pal,  our  old  arch-fiend,  Tufton!  My 
first  impulse,  remembering  the  roving  commission  that  you  had 
given  me,  was  to  dismount,  and  thrash  the  fellow  on  the  spot. 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  325 

But  there  was  something  so  inexpressibly  silly  in  seeing  the  old 
swell  standing  there,  with  his  shaved  head,  and  spotless  bib  on, 
that  I  could  hardly  associate  him  with  any  thought  of  revenge.  I 
thought  that  he  had  sunk  low  enough,  in  Heaven's  name,  and  that 
you  would  forgive  me  if  I  did  not  fulfil  the  letter  of  my  contract. 
You  would  have  laughed  to  see  the  fellow ! 

He  was,  of  course,  immensely  surprised  to  see  me  out  'here, 
asked  where  I  was  going,  and  so  on,  and  insisted  that  Harrison 
and  I  should  dismount,  and  partake  of  liis  hospitality.  Imagine 
it,  Tom,  if  you  can!  —  and  don't  think  I  am  drawing  on  my  own 
imagination,  which  this  country  is  apt  to  stimulate  I  will  allow,- 

—  imagine  me  going  in,  and  seeing  this  quondam  dainty  swell 
presiding  behind  a  bar  (better  by  far  than  most  about  him,  as  I 
could  see  at  a  glance ;  and,  to  do  the  fellow  justice,  he  had  every 
thing  as  neat  as  wax).    But  imagine  him  standing  there,  and  deal- 

'ing  out  fire-water  and  aguardiente  to  rakish-looking  Mexicans, 
and  squeezing  the  lemon  of  the  country  for  the  more  elaborate 
decoctions  of  Americans!  By  Jove!  it  was  as  good  as  a  play,  and  I 
think  I  had  my  revenge,  Tom,  then  and  there.  But,  confound  the 
rascal !  he  seemed  to  carry  it  off  as  though  it  were  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world,  laughing  and  joking  with  us  about  our  trip, 
and  showing  the  same  imperturbable  sang-froid  as  of  yore,  when 
he  entertained  you  and  me,  and  other  young  fools,  in  his  swell 
rooms  in  Cambridge,  and  ordered  about  old  What's-his-name,  his 
man.  Do  you  know,  Tom,  seeing  him  as  I  did  in  Los  Angeles, 
and  the  easy  and  natural  way  in  which  he  went  through  his  work, 
I  am  more  than  half  convinced  that  Goldie  (dear  old  Goldie,  how 
I  should  like  to  see  him  again !)  was  right  in  thinking  that  the 
fellow  was  an  impostor  and  a  fraud  from  the  very  start,  and  had 
been  at  this  glorious  profession  of  bar-keeping  before. 

But  when  he  asked  if  I  would  not  step  in  and  see  his  wife,  and 
I  went  into  a  small,  low  room  in  the  rear  of  his  place,  and  was  in- 
troduced to  Mrs.  Tufton,  —  "Mr.  Penhallow  from  Cambridge," 

—  Tom,  my  boy,  you   might  hare  knocked  me  down  with  a 
feather.    Tufton,  in  fact,  saw  niy  surprise  and  confusion,  and 
considerately  added,  "You  hardly  expected  to  see  us  out  here, 
eh  ?  "  for  on  my  word,  Tom,  sitting  at  a  low  table,  and  working 
at  some  feminine  work  or  other,  looking  as  pretty  as  a  peach,  and 
blushing  as  she  rose  to  ofTer  her  hand,  was  the  Boggle,  by  all  lhat's 

,  holy!    I  couldn't  do  any  thing  but  shake  hands  with  her,  — I  sup- 
pose you  know  how  that  feels,  you  old  rascal !  —  and  stammer  out 
*  something  about  being  very  much  surprised,  and  so  on  (a  lo*  oi 

t 


326  HAMMEHSMITH : 

rubbish,  I  dare  aay),  and  made  tracks  mighty  soon,  you  can  de- 
pend on  it,  under  pretext  that  I  had  a  friend  outside,  Harrison 
having  gone  back  to  have  an  eye  on  our  horses. 

What  is  that  for  news  ?  as  the  Germans  say.  I  made  a  fool  of 
myself,  talking  to  her,  I  know  I  did!  But  I  hadn't  spoken  to  a 
woman  for  weeks,  and  I  never  could  carry  off  such  an  affair  as 
you  could,  Tom:  I'm  not  up  to  it.  I  was  so  mightily  afraid,  too, 
that  something  would  be  said  about  Cambridge,  or  you,  Tom, 
when  I  know  I  should  have  lost  my  temper,  and  done  something 
foolish ;  so  that  beyond  telling  you  that  she  looked  as  pretty  and 
trim  as  ever  on  the  boards  in  Boston,  and  that  she  smiled  on  me 
most  bewitchingly  when  I  left,  and  begged  that  I  would  como 
again  and  see  her  if  I  had  time,  I  can  tell  you  nothing.  You  can 
form  your  own  conjecture,  as  I  do,  about  her  relation  to  Tufton, 
past,  present,  and  future.  One  thing  I  do  not  believe,  that  she  is 
the  daughter  of  old  Boggle  of  the  theatre ;  but  I  have  no  reason 
especially  to  give  for  my  doubt.  I  simply  feel  that  she  is  not,  and 
that  she  was  merely  palmed  off  as  his  daughter  for  the  money- 
extracting  purpose,  which  some  people  know  more  about  than  I. 

Isn't  this  a  pretty  go  ?  —  to  come  out  here  friendless  and  alone, 
as  I  did,  and  run  across  two  such  delightful  old  friends  of  yours 
and  mine!  I  assure  you,  if  it  seems  odd  to  you,  reading  it  here 
in  black  and  white,  it  seemed  queerer  still  to  me  actually  to  see 
and  press  the  hand  (how  she  does  shake  hands,  Tom!)  of  the 
woman  that  did  so  much  to  make  your  sophomore  life  miserable. 
I  could  hardly  believe -my  own  eyes. 

Tufton,  I  must  own,  behaved  as  well  as  was  possible  under  the 
circumstances.  He  never  opened  his  head  about  the  past,  having 
calculated  correctly,  as  he  always  did  calculate,  that  the  less  said 
the  better;  and,  when  I  was  setting  off  the  next  morning  from 
the  hotel,  he  actually  appeared,  —  on  a  mighty  fine  mount,  by  the 
way,  —  and  insisted  that  I  should  allow  him  to  accompany  me 
part  way  on  my  journey.  But  this  was  a  little  too  much,  and  I 
snubbed  him  roundly  for  his  pains,  you  may  be  sure,  as  I  did 
also,  when  he  had  the  additional  effrontery  to  press  my  acceptance 
of  a  huge  Colt's  revolver  that  he  carried.  I  was  not  going  to  be 
under  obligations  to  the  fellow;  and,  after  receiving  directions  as 
to  my  route,  I  sprang  into  saddle  and  was  away,  leaving  him  talk- 
ing with  Harrison,  who  remained  at  Los  Angeles. 

Now  I  have  not  obeyed  orders,  Tom,  as  I  know  quite  well.  I 
will  gallop  back  to  Los  Angeles  and  despatch  him  out  of  hand,  ii 
you  say  sol  But  I  always  did  like  a  free  translation,  you  know, 


HIS   HABVAED  DAYS.  327 

and  so  I  have  not  interpreted  your  instructions  verbatim  et  litera- 
tim. You  would  have  had  your  revenge,  as  I  had,  if  you  could 
have  seen  him. 

Simmons  is  a  magnificent,  dashing  fellow:  Goldie  or  McGregor 
would  kidnap  him  at  once  for  the  crew,  if  they  could  lay  eyes  on 
him;  and  yet,  with  all  this  wild  life  and  danger,  he's  as  gentle  as 
a  woman,  and  a  perfect  gentleman.  He  has  had  some  unhappy 
experience  with  somebody  in  the  East, — some  young  woman,  I 
believe,  —  and  that's  the  reason  he  has  exiled  himself  out  here; 
I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it,  though,  and  do  not  know  him 
well  enough  to  inquire;  but  I'm  sorry  for  the  young  woman 
that  could  have  the  heart,  or  the  heartlessuess,  to  throw  over  such 
a  stunning  fellow.  He  never  mentions  a  woman's  name  I've  no- 
ticed. How  you  susceptible  fellows  are  all,  sooner  or  later,  tripped 
up  in  the  same  old  way !  while  as  for  me,  and  such  as  me,  a  fig 
for  a  whole  caravansary  of  the  treacherous  sex! 

I  thought  that  I  knew  how  to  ride,  my  dear  Tom,  and  that, 
when  you  and  I  used  to  scour  the  fields  about  Milton  (remember 
our  taking  old  Freeman's  fence,  and  riding  down  his  brood-mare 
that  day?)  we  were  doing  some  pretty  fair  riding.  But  you  should 
see  Simmons,  and  the  fellows  out  here  generally!  He  never  thinks 
of  using  the  stirrup  to  mount !  One  hand  in  the  horse's  mane,  and 
he  vaults,  without  apparent  effort,  into  the  saddle,  and  is  plunging 
the  spurs  into  his  horse's  flanks  long  before  he  can  catch  his  stir- 
rups. And  then  the  way  he  tears  across  country,  and  up  and 
down  hills  where  we  would  probably  dismount,  or  go  at  a  snail's 
pace!  It's  fearful  on  horses,  though. 

You  know  how  you  used  to  rave  about  an  out-door  life,  mid- 
dle ages,  tilting  up  and  down  the  world,  and  living  with  your 
horse  and  your  gun.  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  here's  your  chance, 
and  here's  your  man  for  squire,  Sancho  Panza,  or  whatever  you 
will  dub  me.  Only  come,  and  I  will  promise  to  do  any  thing,  be 
any  thing,  except  to  be  any  thing  other  than  your  most  devoted 
old  chum  and  partner  as  of  yore. 

You  would  find  us  in  a  comfortable  old  adobe  in  the  midst  of 

n  pretty  oak-glade;  a  little  brook  behind  the  house,  a  hammock 

slung  under  the  trees,  the   "Boston  Advertiser"   and   "  Tran- 

'  script,"  with  most  of  the  new  books,  scattered  about,  a  corral  full 

of  horses  for  Hammersmith,  surnamed  Celei,  to  mount,  and  no 

»nd  of  pipes  and  tobacco  for  my  lord  to  console  himself  withal, 

/when  the  Machado  Senorita  shall  not  smile. 


328  HAMMERSMITH : 


Write  me  as  fully  as  you  can,  and  tell  me  all  the  news.  How 
is  Goldie,  and  Pinck,  and  your  original  friend  Breese?  And  are 
you  still  holding  out  about  your  rowing '?  They  must  miss  you 
like  sin  in  the  old  boat,  old  boy;  and  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  be 
so  firm.  The  Pudding  elections  must  have  come  off  long  before 
this,  and  I  am  very  curious  to  hear  of  them.  I  shall  be  much  sur- 
prised if  you  are  not  in  the  first  ten,  you  old  rascal ! 

Tell  me,  too,  who  is  the  successor  of  the  Boggle,  and  what 
other  rosy  and  more  respectable  little  affairs  you  have  on  hand; 
for  you  can  no  more  keep  out  of  them  than  my  old  Diablo  yon- 
der can  help  stuffing  himself  with  alfilcrilla  when  he  gets  a  good 
chance,  and  you  know  it !  Remember  me  to  all  the  fellows,  particu- 
larly to  Pinckney  and  Goldie,  —  yes,  and  Freemantle,  and,  when- 
ever you  can  find  nothing  better  to  do,  just  scratch  off  a  line  to 
Your  devoted  old  chum, 

PEN. 

How  is  Baldy?  Does  he  carry  you  as  well  as  he  used  to,  or 
do  you  overweight  him  a  bit  now?  I  would  give  a  good  deal  if  I 
might  pop  in  upon  you  some  fine  day  on  my  little  mustang,  with 
my  silver  spurs  as  big  as  a  saucer,  and  my  heavily-leathered  sad- 
dle! It  would  make  a  jolly  sensation  in  Harvard  Square,  I  can 
assure  you!  But,  as  I  have  hinted  above,  I  should  be  afraid  of 
asking  you  to  join  me  in  a  little  canter  across  countiy,  —  "three's 
a  crowd,"  you  know;  and  I  fear  that  Baldy  has  learned  to  accom- 
modate his  step  to  some  other  gentle  stepper  by  his  side,  long 
before  this,  and  might  tell  strange  stories  of  the  afternoon  pastimes 
that  he  has  been  made  a  party  to,  if  the  old  fellow  could  have  his 
say.  Shun,  'em,  shun  'em,  Tom,  my  boy!  or  you'll  burn  your 
fingers  again,  without  a  doubt;  and  then,  when  you  come  out 
here,  I  shall  have  a  couple  of  broken-hearted  fellows  on  my  hands, 
and  I  shall  be  the  only  sensible  one  in  the  crowd. 

Simmons  sends  his  kindest  regards  to  you,  and  says,  "  Tell 
him  we'll  present  him  with  the  freedom  of  the  city  and  the  ranch, 
if  he'll  come  out,  as  many  horses  as  he  wants  to  ride,  and  a  fine 
sunset  for  supper  every  evening  of  his  life."  So  you'll  have  to 
come  and  take  him  at  his  word,  though  I  can  promise  you  that 
sunsets  will  not  be  all  that  you  can  have  for  supper,  unless  we 
become  immensely  more  {esthetic  than  we  are  at  present.  By- 
by,  old  fellow. 

Yours,  FI:N 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  329 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  'VARSITY  ACCIDENT  AND  MORE  REVELATIONS. 

"Mordre  wol  out,  that  see  we  day  by  day."  —  CHATJCKB. 
"  Hectora  quls  nosset,  felix  si  Troja  fuiseet?  " — OVID. 

ADBROKE  had  been  kept  to  his  winter  work  in  prep- 
aration  for  the  'Varsity  even  more  successfully  than 
Goldie  and  McGregor  had  dared  hope.  The  most  severe 
of  bow-oars,  as  McGregor  was  universally  acknowledged 
to  be,  could  not  have  desired  more  faithful  labor  at  the 
dumb-bells  and  clubs,  and  a  more  careful  attention  to  the 
rules  for  the  crew,  than  Ladbroke  had  given.  The  most 
expectant  and  patient  of  strokes,  as  Goldie  unquestionably 
was,  could  hardly  have  wished  for  better  form  and  more 
vicious  pulling,  as  the  phrase  goes,  than  Ladbroke  dis- 
played at  their  first  row  of  the  following  season,  when 
crowds  gathered  every  evening  at  the  boat-houses,  every 
man  in  the  crew  was  carefully  criticised,  and,  above  all, 
their  general  working  as  a  crew  became  a  matter  of  the 
most  eager  interest. 

Succeed  at  Worcester  ?  Of  course  they  would  !  There 
had  been  no  crew  like  this,  for  j'ears,  in  either  college. 
Men  felt  sure  of  it.  Professor  Darby,  looking  on  every 
evening  from  one  of  the  lower  bridges  as  they  shot  under, 
had  declared  it  as  his  opinion  ;  and  the  university  spirits, 
none  too  cheerful  after  the  defeat  at  Worcester  last  year, 
'were  rising  day  by  day  as  the  fresh  spring  evenings  came 
round,  and  the  crew  day  by  day  took  on  a  better  style, 
and  pulled  together  more  as  one  man.  Goldie  was  glori 


330  HAMMEESMITH : 

ous,  as  always  ;  Loring,  pulling  at  No.  2,  was  only  infe- 
rior to  Goldie  as  a  finished,  powerful  oar ;  Ladbroke  was 
regarded  as  the  great  man  in  the  waist  of  the  boat ;  and 
from  Goldie  to  McGregor,  chief  of  bow-oars,  every  man 
was  equal  to  his  position. 

"They're  taking  a  mighty  long  pull  to-night!"  said 
Freemantle  in  a  crowd  of  men  at  the  boat-houses,  one 
evening.  "  Can  any  thing  have  happened?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  somebody.  "  Mac  is  only  coaching 
them ;  that's  all.  He  lilies  to  get  them  up  above  there, 
where  he  can  have  them  to  himself,  and  give  them  a 
piece  of  his  mind." 

"  By  Jove  !  I'm  glad  he  hasn't  me  to  give  a  piece  of 
the  aforesaid  mind  to,"  piped  up  a  senior, — young  Rub- 
badub,  the  long-stemmed  smoker. 

"  Coals  to  Newcastle?  "  asked  Freemautle,  turning  to 
Rubbadub.  "By  Jove!  who's  that?"  he  said,  looking 
up  the  river. 

Two  men  in  ordinary  dress,  and  two  in  the  thin  rig  of 
boating-men,  with  bare  arms  and  necks,  handkerchiefs 
about  their  heads,  were  seen  running  towards  Cambridge, 
across  the  upper  bridge,  at  a  rapid  dog-trot. 

"Lord,  it's  Hammersmith  and  Breese !  And  is  it 
Goldie?  And  Ladbroke?" 

"  No,  it's  Goldie.     But  that's  not  Lad  :  it's  Loring !  " 

"No, — yes,  it  is:  it's  Loriug  and  Goldie. — Come 
along,  Pinck  :  something  has  happened  !  "  And  our  luxu- 
rious Freemantle,  roused  by  unusual  excitement,  and  in- 
terest in  the  'Varsity,  started  off  with  Pinckney  to  meet 
the  runners,  settling  into  a  steady  trot  themselves,  a 
crowd  following  at  their  heels. 

"What  is  it?    What  is  it?    Has  any  thing  happened  ?' 
they  asked,  as  the  runners  were  met  on  their  way  to  the 
square. 

"Upset!"    said   Goldie,    continuing   to  run;    "  sheL 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  331 

smashed  to  smithereens!  Ladbroke  nearly  drowned! 
Tint's  all." 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  Somebody  run  into  you  ?  "  asked 
Eubbadub,  puffing  after  them  wheezily. 

"  Go  to  thunder !  "  roared  Goldie.  "  Who  asked  such 
an  asinine  question?  Think  I'm  going  to  stop  here,  and 
catch  my  death  of  cold?"  And  the  two  crowds  of  run- 
ners, narrowed  down  now  to  the  original  four,  with  Free- 
mantle,  Pinckney,  and  a  few  others,  came  tearing  into 
Harvard  Square,  to  the  vast  wonder  of  everybody  whom 
they  met. 

Two  more  men  in  boating-costume  soon  came  jogging 
across  the  bridge.  A  milk-cart  followed  them  at  a  dis- 
tance, emptied  of  its  fragrant  cans,  and  bringing  Mc- 
Gregor and  Ladbroke,  the  latter  lying  half  prone  in  a 
layer  of  straw,  propped  up  on  McGregor's  knees.  Lad- 
broke  was  driven  to  his  rooms  outside  the  quadrangle. 
The  milkman  would  listen  to  no  offer  of  reward  for  his 
services.  "  Well,  then,  old  man,  I'll  see  you  again  some 
day,"  said  McGregor.  "  Thank  you  very  much  for  your 
kindness."  And  the  news  spread  like  wildfire  through- 
out the  university,  that  the  crew  had  had  a  bad  upset  at 
one  of  the  upper  bridges,  and  Ladbroke  had  been  nearly 
drowned,  only  saved  by  Breese  and  Hammersmith  dash- 
ing in  after  him  as  the  two  were  taking  a  constitutional 
in  that  direction. 

"Well,  how  was  it  George?"  asked  Pinckney,  as  tho 
old  hero  was  dressing  in  his  rooms.  A  great  splashing 
of  water  in  a  tin  hat-tub  was  heard  from  an  inner  room  ; 
and  out  of  the  midst  of  the  noise  came  Goldie 's  voice  to 
the  few  men  in  waiting  in  the  outer  room :  — 

"  Simple  enough.     That   confounded  bridge  with  the 

•  crooked  draw !     I  wish  some  friend  of  the  college  would 

have  the  blamed  thing  made  straight !     We  were  shooting 

it  all  right,  with  considerable  headway,  when  Mac  turned 


332  HAMMERSMITH  : 

his  head  and  saw  one  of  those  beastly,  low  coal-barges 
sticking  its  nose  right  across  the  draw  on  the  other  side. 
'  For  God's  sake,  hold  her  hard  all !  '  he  shouted.  And 
we  held  her  as  well  as  we  could ;  but  it  was  too  late, 
though  Mac  put  the  rudder  hard  port,  and  repeated  liis 
command  to  back  her.  "We  struck  the  old  barge  with  a 
tremendous  crash.  As  much  as  ten  feet  of  our  bow  must 
have  been  smashed  to  splinters ;  and,  before  we  knew 
where  we  were,  one  of  those  whirling  eddies  had  caught 
us,  we  were  thrown  back  on  the  piles,  and  every  man  of 
us  was  struggling  in  the  water.  By  Jove  I  don't  believe 
in  these  toe-straps  !  — at  least,  in  having  them  so  tight.  I 
thought  I  should  be  drowned  myself,  at  first ;  couldn't  get 
my  feet  clear  of  the  straps  for  a  terribly  long  time  after 
the  boat  was  on  its  side.  I  did  so  finally,  however,  and 
struck  out  as  well  as  I  could. 

"  The  fellows  were  all  about  me,  Loring  astride  of  the 
boat,  Mac  treading  water  amidships,  holding  on  to  the 
shell,  and  the  oars  bumping  about  in  every  direction. 
We  could  all  swim  but  Ladbroke,  you  see ;  and  each  fel- 
low had  so  much  difficulty  in  looking  after  himself,  that 
what  with  the  swift  current,  which  pulls  through  there 
like  a  mill-race,  the  boat  and  oars  bumping  into  us,  and 
the  stretcher-straps  (which  bothered  Loring  and  me,  at 
any  rate,  a  good  deal) ,  we  had  as  much  as  we  could  do  to 
look  after  ourselves.  But  when  I  came  up  and  looked 
about  me,  I  sung  out,  '  Where's  Lad  ? '  and  Loring,  sitting 
on  the  shell,  was  looking  about  him  on  eveiy  side.  '  There 
he  is ! '  he  shouted,  pointing  to  the  lower  end  of  the 
bridge ;  and,  plunging  from  the  shell,  he  joined  me,  and 
we  struck  out  down  stream.  We  could  see  his  arms  thrown 
up  in  the  air,  and  then  disappearing,  —  good  God,  how 
it  makes  me  shiver  to  think  of  it !  —  and  the  current  was 
hunting  him  along  so,  as  he  struggled,  that  we  feared  we 
might  not  reach  him  in  time. 


HIS    HARVARD   DAYS.  383 

'•  We  hadn't  taken  a  dozen  strokes,  however,  —  much 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it. — when  we  saw  somebody 
run  out  on  a  long  plank  projecting  from  the  bridge,  give  a 
tremendous  spring,  and  take  the  most  magnificent  header 
that  I  ever  saw  in  my  lite.  Pinek.  coming  down  within  five 
feet  of  where  we  had  last  seen  Ladhroke'.s  arms  disappear. 
It  was  Breese  !  And  if  that  man  isn't  a  glorious  fellow 
in  the  water,  my  dear  boy.  I  never  saw  one  —  that's  all! 
Hammersmith  jumped  in  after  him  ;  and.  before  we  had 
reached  Breese.  he  had  come  up  with  Ladbroke,  who  must 
have  gone  down  for  the  last  time.  Hammersmith  and  wo 
swam  about  him  ;  and  it  took  us  but  a  moment  to  land  him. 
on  the  marsh,  and  set  to  work  on  him.  The  other  men 
were  out  by  this  time.  The  bargemen  helped  us  out  with 
the  shell ;  and,  by  the  time  Mac  had  captured  a  wagon  of 
some  sort,  Breese  and  some  of  us  (by  Jove  !  he  seemed 
to  know  exactly  what  to  do.  and  was  worth  all  the  rest  of 
us  put  together) — we  had  brought  Lad  to  sufficiently  to 
risk  bringing  him  back  to  Cambridge  ;  and  we  put  him  in, 
and  started  off. ' ' 

"Think  there's  any  danger  for  him?"  asked  Free- 
mantle. 

The  old  stroke,  beaming  and  fresh  from  his  exercise 
and  his  bath,  here  came  out  in  a  loose  shooting-jacket, 
and,  ramming  his  hands  into  its  pockets,  strode  about  the 
room  as  he  continued  to  discuss  the  accident. 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  say.  I  hope  not,  I  hope  to 
Heaven  not !  He  has  a  magnificent  physique ;  but  he 
looked  almighty  bad  when  we  had  nun  out  on  the  marsh." 

"  Can't  he  swim  at  all?  " 

"  Xot  a  stroke,"  said  Goldie.  "Great  shame!  It 
ought  to  be  a  sine  qua  non  on  a  man's  entering  a  crew  ; 
and  I'm  surprised  the  thing  is  not  'nsistcd  on." 

"  Shell  a  perfect  wreck?  " 

"  I  fear  so.     I  looked  at  the  old  thing  on  the  bank,  and 


334  HAMMERSMITH : 

don't  see  how  it  can  possibly  be  fixed  up.  'We'll  have  a 
pretty  time  raising  subscriptions  for  a  new  one,  eh?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  so,"  one  of  the  men  said. 

"  Freemantle,  let's  go  round  and  see  if  we  can  be  of 
any  sendee  at  Ladbroke's,"  said  Goldie.  —  "Fellows, 
make  yourselves  at  home :  we'll  be  back  presently." 

It  was  no  light  matter,  this  severe  ducking  that  Lad- 
broke  had  received.  He  seemed  quite  himself  that  even- 
ing, to  be  sure,  when  he  had  had  a  little  food.  He  saw 
many  men  who  called,  talked  with  them  freely  on  the 
accident,  thanked  everybody  for  his  kindness  in  the  mat- 
ter, —  though  all  insisted  that  Breese  and  Hammersmith 
alone  deserved  his  gratitude,  —  and  the  doctor  prophesied 
a  little  fever,  possibly  a  week's  iUness,  and  a  speedy 
recovery. 

"Will  it  be  safe  for  him  to  row  again,  doctor?" 
McGregor  had  ventured  to  ask  after  a  day  or  so. 

"  That  depends.  I  think  so,  if  you  men  will  allow  him 
perfect  rest  and  quiet,  and  not  let  him  attempt  too  much 
after  he's  first  up."  The  medical  opinion  was  immedi- 
ately made  known  ;  and  McGregor  became  almost  as  good 
as  a  lackey  in  the  hall  of  Mrs.  Ripraps,  Ladbroke's  land- 
lady, so  anxious  was  he  that  men  should  be  kept  away 
from  him  to  give  him  the  perfect  rest. 

The  second  day,  as  the  doctor  had  prophesied,  fever  set 
in.  It  became  much  worse  on  the  third  ;  and  his  mother 
was  sent  for  from  Providence,  and  came  posting,  full  of 
anxious  solicitude,  to  her  boy's  bedside. 

Ladbroke,  unconscious  at  first  of  the  danger  that  he 
ffas  running,  lulled,  perhaps,  by  the  treatment  which  he 
received,  lay  for  some  days  in  a  state  of  semi-stupor,  only 
rousing  himself  at  intervals  to  inquire  if  his  mother  were 
near  him,  and  appearing  resignedly  happy  if  she  were, 
When  the  fever  seemed  breaking,  he  sent  often  for  one 


HIS   HABVABD   DAYS.  335 

man  after  another,  —  Goldie,  McGregor,  Breese,  Ham- 
mersmith, —  anxious  only  to  see  them,  and  feel  the  touch 
of  their  great  brawny  hands. 

His  mother's  watchful  tenderness  and  careful  minister- 
ing, too,  —  ah,  how  it  comforted  him,  after  his  life  of 
excesses  and  selfish  pleasures,  only  lately  interrupted  by 
this  renovating  boating  experience !  He  seemed  entirely 
content  to  follow  her  with  his  e3Tes  as  she  busied  herself 
with  one  tender  duty  after  another ;  and  you  may  be  sure 
that  all  his  past  wild  life  came  crowding  its  bitter  memories 
into  his  mind  as  he  lay  and  watched  this  loving  presence 
moving  about  him  noiselessly,  anticipating  his  wants. 
He  talked  with  her  about  his  Cambridge  friends,  his  pro- 
fessors, his  duties,  (Heaven  knows  his  letters  home  had 
been  infrequent  enough !)  and  he  was  filled  with  pleasure 
when  she  shared  his  interest,  and  spoke  approvingly  of 
this  or  that  manly  young  fellow  who  had  just  left  his  bed- 
side. 

Hammersmith  had  been  as  frequent  a  caller  as  many 
another,  no  more,  no  less.  When  Ladbroke's  fever  had 
been  apparently  broken  with  effect,  however,  and  he  was 
allowed  to  see  people  more  freely,  it  was  Hammersmith, 
Hammersmith,  for  whom  he  continually  asked,  till  his 
mother  suggested,  with  timid  emphasis,  that  she  feared 
Mr.  Hammersmith  might  be  interrupted  in  his  work,  or 
feel  that  he  was  giving  too  much  time  to  her  boy.  But 
10,  he  must  see  Hammersmith  again  and  again.  And 
Tom,  for  his  part,  looked  upon  it  as  exceedingly  odd,  and 
almost  an  indication  that  Ladbroke's  old  wandering  fit 
had  come  upon  him  again,  that  he,  who  had  been  on 
barely  speaking-terms  with  Ladbroke  for  months  now, 
should  be  so  frequently  summoned  to  his  side. 

But  could  he  refuse  if  he  would?     So,  day  after  day, 

,  evening  after  evening,  he  came  and  sat  by  the  feverish 

joung  man,  bringing  him  news  of  the  outside  world,  — 


336  «  HAMMERSMITH : 

Low  the  Cricket  Eleven  was  just  about  playing  a  match 
with  the  "  Aristonicans ;  "  how  the  crew  was  practising 
only  every  other  day  now,  with  Albertson  temporarily  in 
Ladbroke's  place ;  how  everybody  was  anxious  for  his 
getting  out  again ;  and  how  Goldie  had  declared  that  they 
were  just  as  sure  to  beat  Yale  at  Worcester,  with  Lad- 
broke,  as  they  were  of  the  sun's  rising  on  the  day  of  the 
race.  The  poor  fellow  was  delighted  and  refreshed  by  all 
this  breezy  intelligence,  coupled  with  such  praise  of  his 
own  powers.  His  eyes  would  brighten,  and  he  would  ask 
Tom  to  tell  him  again  of  Farley's  famous  drive  for  six  on 
the  Boston's  cricket-grounds,  and  what  changes  Yale  had 
made  in  her  crew,  and  so  on  ;  but  Tom  could  see  that  his 
mind  was  working  at  something,  planning  something,  — 
what  he  could  not  imagine. 

Hammersmith  was  not  surprised,  therefore,  one  even- 
ing after  Ladbroke's  fever  had  returned  rather  alarmingly, 
to  receive  a  note  from  his  mother,  saying  that  her  son 
wished  particularly  to  see  him,  and  would  he  come  round 
at  once  ? 

;' Mother,  will  you  step  into  the  next  room  for  a  few 
moments,  please?  I  have  something  special  that  I  wish 
to  say  to  Hammersmith,"  he  said  when  Tom  entered. 

"  Certainly,  my  son.  But  you  will  promise  not  to  ex- 
cite yourself?  —  He  is  a  little  feverish  to-night,  Mr.  Ham- 
mersmith :  you  will  not  allow  him  to  talk  too  much  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  indeed,  madam !  — Hadn't  I  better  come  to-mor- 
row instead,  Ladbroke?"  asked  Tom. 

"  No,  no,  I  want  you  now  !  "  and  he  pointed  to  a  chair 
near  him.  His  mother  went  out ;  and  Hammersmith  sat 
down. 

"Hammersmith,  I've  been  wanting  to  tell  you  some- 
thing for  a  long  time,"  he  began,  talking  hurrieclty,  and 
then  waiting  for  breath,  as  in  all  his  conversation  of  the 
evening! 


HIS  HAHVABD  DATS.  337 

"  WeU,  my  dear  fellow?  '* 

"  And  now  I  must  tell  you,  because  I'm  going  to  die. 
Yes,  yes,  I  am :  you  do  not  know  as  well  as  I  do.  I'm 
never  going  to  walk  out  at  that  door  again ;  I  know  it, 
and  I  am  trying  to  be  prepared  for  it.  I  have  been 
such  a  fool,  Hammersmith,  such  a  worthless  fellow !  I 
wonder  anybod}'  has  ever  thought  me  worth  speaking  to ! 
I  Jut  the  kindness  of  you  men  these  last  days  has  been 
almost  too  much  for  me  to  bear.  I  should  not  dare  say 
how  I  have  thought  over  it  all,  and  all  n^  past  follies, 
and  praj'ed,  in  my  poor  way,  that  the  Lord  might  spare 
me  a  little  life, — just  enough  to  show  that  I  can  live  a 
good  life,  if  I  have  a  few  friends  to  keep  me  up  to  it." 

"  Of  course  you  can,  Ladbroke ;  of  course,  you  can! 
Come,  don't  run  on  in  this  way,  old  fellow.  I  know 
you're  going  to  get  well.  You  must  get  well.  Every- 
body says  you  are  picking  up  wonderfully,  and  you'll  be 
out  3'et  to  give  old  Yale  the  biggest  kind  of  a  defeat." 

But  the  hot  hand  which  Ladbroke  laid  now  and  then  on 
Hammersmith's,  and  his  unnaturalty  high  color  and  bright 
eyes,  belied  the  cheerful  augury ;  and  poor  Tom  felt  strange- 
ly uncomfortable. 

"  No,  no !  You're  ver}r  kind,  Tom,  — let  me  call  you 
Tom  to-night>:  I  hear  all  the  men  calling  you  so,  but  I 
have  never  dared  to  ;  3*011  know  why, — you're  very  kind ; 
but  I  know  it  can  never  be.  I  am  going  to  die ;  but  I 
must  first  tell  3-011,  I  must  tell  you  what  has  been  on  my 
mind  so  long  that  it  has  almost  driven  me  wild,  especially 
since  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me,  coaching  me  in  the 
boat  with  the  rest,  and  saving  m3*  poor  life  just  now  in 
the  river.  Yes,  of  course,  Breese  too,  and  the  rest ;  but 
3-011  with  them.  Tom,  it's  about  Tufton." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  don't  mind  about  him,  my  dear  fellow ! 
, That's  passed  and  gone  long  ago,"  said  Tom. 

"Yes;  but  it  has  not  passed  out  of  my  mind,"  said 


338  HAMMERSMITH : 

Ladbroke  ;  "  and  it  is  not  what  you  think,  perhaps.  Yon 
know  that  we  had  some  words  once  in  a  freshman's  room 
last  year,  you  and  I "  — 

"But  that's  all  passed  too,  Ladbroke.  I'm  sure  I've 
forgotten  all  about  it  long  ago,"  pleaded  Hammersmith. 

"But  I've  not  forgotten  it,"  answered  Ladbroke. 
"And,  first,  I  want  to  beg  your  pardon  for  what  I  did  and 
said  that  night,  Tom.  Yes,  I  do  ;  and  I  insist  that  it  was 
beggarly  mean  and  disgraceful  in  me  !  There,  I  feel  better 
already,  though  I  would  never  have  been  able  to  say  it, 
probably,  if  it  had  not  been  for  all  that  has  happened 
in  these  last  few  days, — thank  God  for  them!  That 
evening,  and  the  words  that  we  had,  seemed  to  put  me 
on  the  wrong  track,  somehow  ;  and  I  pass  over  all  those 
miserable  weeks  and  months  when  I  was  such  a  wretched 
fool,  and  you  and  I  never  spoke.  I  am  sorry  for  it  now ; 
but  I  thought  I  was  all  right  then,  and  only  standing  on 
my  dignity. 

"  Then  Tufton  and  you  were  so  thick,  and  I  was  pretty 
intimate  with  him  'too,  the  infernal  scoundrel !  (God  for- 
give me  for  calling  any  man  such  a  name  ! )  Then  you  and 
he  fell  out.  But,  for  some  reason  or  other,  the  fellow 
seemed  to  make  a  good  deal  of  me,  and  I  suppose  I  was 
flattered,  and  so  stood  by  him. 

"  Your  Boggle  affair  came  to  a  head  at  the  same  time, 
I  suppose  ;  and,  when  Tufton  left  Cambridge,  he  talked  to 
me  about  you,  and  at  last  made  me  promise  to  do  any 
thing  that  I  could  to  injure  you.  I  was  a-  fool  and  a  vil- 
lain, I  own,  Tom,  and  I  beg  j-our  pardon  for  what  I  did  ; 
but  I  promised  him  and  swore  to  him  (we  were  together 
in  town  at  the  time)  that  I  would  do  what  I  could.  And 
he  told  me  all  his  plans, — how  he  was  going  to  leave 
Cambridge  the  first  rainjr  day,  have  his  friend  Crosb}'  go 
off  to  New  York  with  that  Boggle  girl  (well,  you  know 
what  she  is) ,  and  he  himself  wait  about  in  town  a  week 


HIS   HAKVAKD  DAYS.  339 

or  more  for  some  money  that  old  Boggle  owed  him.  Can 
you  forgive  me  for  knowing  all  about  your  affairs  in  this 
way,  Hammersmith,  and  making  such  a  dirty  promise  to 
injure  you?" 

"Certainly,  I  can,  Lad!  Here's  my  hand  on  it!  I 
know,  to  my  cost,  how  insidious  that  old  Tufton  was,  my 
dear  fellow !  I've  some  news  of  him  himself  that  I'L 
tell  you  when  you  are  through,  —  from  Penhallow,  my  old 
chum." 

"  "Well,  then  that  Bradstreet  scrape  came  on,  and  the 
faculty  order  threatening  to  decimate  the  class  if  the  per- 
petrators did  not  come  forward.  It  was  a  miserably  thin 
trick,  I  own,  Hammersmith  ;  but  I  said  to  myself,  Here's 
my  chance  !  and  rushed  in  to  tell  Tufton,  who  got  up  that 
note  to  the  faculty,  saying  that  you  and  Goldie  were  at 
the  bottom  of  the  affair :  you've  seen  it,  of  course  ?  Yes  ; 
and,  to  make  it  seem  as  if  it  came  from  somebody  out 
here,  I,  fool  that  I  was  !  brought  the  note  out  with  me,  and 
dropped  it  in  the  mail  Sunday  evening,  when  there  was 
nobody  in  the  post-office.  And — Tom,  I  felt  like  a  thief, 
or  a  murderer,  or  anybody  else  that's  low  and  mean  ;  but 
I  had  promised  to  do  it,  and  so  I  mailed  it,  and  felt  that 
everybody  I  met  on  the  way  to  my  rooms  must  see  by 
my  face  that  I  had  been  doing  a  dirty  trick.  Can  you 
forgive  me,  Tom?  Thank  Heaven  that  your  friends,  some 
of  them,  were  successful  in  saving  you,  at  any  rate  !  " 

"  Come,  come,  don't  get  excited!  "We'll  have  a  jolly 
old  laugh  some  day  over  the  whole  thing,  and  break  a 
bottle  of  champagne  on  it  yet,"  said  Hammersmith  ;  and 
he  seized  one  of  Ladbroke's  hot,  wasted  hands  in  both  his 
own  brown  hands,  and  added,  "  Of  course  I  forgive  you, 
old  boy !  You'll  get  well,  and  have  a  great  tune  at 
Worcester ;  and  next  year  you  will  be  such  a  swell  in 
,  Cambridge,  that  "  — 

"Aren't  you  talking  too  long,  Harry  dear? — Excus* 


34  0  HAMMERSMITH : 

me,  Mr.  Hammersmith,"  said  Ladbroke 's  mother,  putting 
her  head  in  at  the  door. 

"  No,  mother ;  but  we're  just  about  through  now.  I  do 
feel  a  little  tired,  though. — Are  yon  going?  " 

"I'd  better  go,  I  think,"  said  Tom.  "  I'll  be  around 
here  in  the  morning  again  ;  and  I  know  I  shall  find  you 
immensely  better,  and  already  calling  out  for  your  boxing- 
gloves,  or  perhaps  even  for  your  seat  in  the  boat,  — who 
knows?" 

"  Oh  !  by  the  way,  Tom,  I  want  to  leave  —  I  want  to 
give  you  something.  I  haven't  much  up  here  to  give  you  ; 
but  I  wish,  I  realty  wish,  that  you  would  let  me  make  you 
a  present  of  my  boxing-gloves.  They're  a  very  fair  set,  a 
particularly  good  set  old  Molineaux  says ;  and  I'm  sure 
I  shall  not  be  — I'm  sure  I'm  never  going  to  use  them 
again  "  (Mrs.  Ladbroke  was  looking  down  anxiously  and 
inquiringly  at  him).  —  "I'm  such  a  great  boating-man 
now,  3*ou  know,  mother,  that  I  shall  never  have  time  to 
box  any  more,  I  mean.  — You'll  take  them,  Tom?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  not  a  bit  of  it !  "  said  Hammersmith. 
"What,  put  my  unskilful  fists  into  the  gloves  that  you 
have  made  famous,  my  dear  fellow !  Can't  think  of  it, 
Lad  :  I  should  be  afraid  of  disgracing  them." 

"Ah,  Tom,  but  you  will !  "  But  Tom  would  not,  though 
he  continued  to  banter  and  chaff  the  invalid  in  a  pleasant 
way  about  his  famous  gloves  ;  and  at  last,  catching  up  his 
thin  hands  in  his  own,  he  said  to  him,  "  Well,  old  fellow, 
I'll  see  you  in  the  morning,  and  we'll  have  another  bout 
with  the  gloves,  eh?  "  and  went  out  suddenly,  waving  his 
hand  to  him  in  a  cheerful  way  as  he  opened  the  door,  and 
bowed  to  Mrs.  Ladbroke. 

Two  nights  later  Ladbroke  died.  All  the  awe  and 
uvystery  which  wait  on  death  came  to  impress  with  sudden 
power  the  j'oung  and  cheerful  circles  where  Ladbroke  hag 


HIS    HARVARD   DAYS.  341 

BO  recently  moved,  as  fresh,  as  sturdy,  as  full  of  vitalit}', 
as  any.  It  was  the  first  time  that  pale  thoughts  of  death 
had  entered  the  class  of  Hammersmith  ;  the  first  time  that 
one  had  gone  out  from  their  number  never  to  return  alive. 
At  the  class-meeting  which  was  held  the  next  day  in  the 
"Institute  "  rooms,  where  the  usual  resolutions  of  respect 
and  condolence  were  passed,  the  hushed  silence,  the 
young  men  sitting  and  moving  as  with  a  sense  of  some 
awful  surrounding  power  whose  presence  the}*  had  never 
fully  realized  till  now,  every  thing,  testified  to  the  sudden 
emphasis  with  which  the  mystery  of  life  and  death  had 
been  brought  home  to  them. 

A  deeper  meaning,  an  unexplained  tenderness  of  grace, 
seemed  to  fill  all  the  old  familiar  scenes  where  Ladbroke 
had  lived  and  moved,  rejoicing  in  his  strength.  The  very 
elms  appeared  to  rustle  above  them  in  more  solemn  whis- 
pers. Could  it  be  the  same  quadrangle  as  before,  the 
same  sunny  society,  the  same  groups  of  confident  3-0 uth 
appearing  to  def}'  dissolution  ?  Men  spoke  in  low  tones  of 
poor  Ladbroke :  it  was  so  sudden,  so  unexpected  !  the3* 
could  not  believe  it.  Only  yesterday',  as  it  were,  hearty, 
active,  stronger  limbed  than  almost  an3*  of  his  mates  ;  to- 
da3*,  dead,  the  life  gone  out  of  his  glorious  muscles,  his 
classmates  asking  themselves  whither  had  fled  the  inform- 
ing spirit  which  3*esterda3'  made  a  man,  to-da}*  leaves  him 
cla3*.  What  sage,  what  philosoph}-,  what  preacher,  can 
entirety  answer  them? 

At  the  services  held  in  the  chapel  the  following  cla3*,  Dr. 
Brimblecom  made  no  labored  attempt,  no  learned  treat- 
ment of  the  awful  nysteiy  of  life  and  death,  no  threaten- 
ing deductions  from  the  present  event  which  had  come  to 
startle  them  with  its  suddenness.  His  sermon  was  simple, 
impressive,  homery.  What  were,  we  to  learn  from  the 
lesson  of  youthful  health  and  strength  and  confidence 
snatched  awa3r  in  the  fulness  of  its  power?  What  was 


342  HAMMEKSMITH: 

the  reason  of  the  wider  vision,  the  greater  longing,  the 
deeper  purpose,  which  the  preacher  felt  sure  had  come  to 
each  one  among  his  young  hearers  under  the  influence  of 
this  removal  of  their  classmate  by  the  hand  of  God  ?  "VVe 
were  to  learn  that  at  all  times,  every  where,  we  were  to  bo 
prepared  for  his  quick  summons  ;  that  the  young  man  only 
just  polishing  his  shield,  and  hardening  his  muscles  for 
the  battle  of  life  which  awaits  us  all ;  those  in  the  thick 
of  the  fray,  dealing  stout  blows  for  the  causes  which  they 
hold  just ;  the  aged,  weighty  with  wisdom  and  experience, 
or  bending  with  infirmities  ;  the  merry  schoolgirl,  the  anx- 
ious mother,  the  innocent  child,  —  all  were  liable  at  any 
moment  to  hear  the  mildly  stern  voice  of  God,  and  to  be 
called  away  from  their  earthly  careers.  Yes  ;  and  the  idle 
reveller,  the  scoffer,  the  fool  who  would  see  no  nobler  end 
in  life  than  personal  gratification  and  luxurious  idleness, 
the  false  at  heart,  the  mean  in  spirit,  —  sooner  or  later 
they  must  be  confronted,  as  were  the  preacher's  hearers 
to-day,  with  the  great  questions,  How  have  I  labored  with 
the  powers  which  I  have  had  given  me  ?  Have  I  done  all 
that  I  could  to  make  my  own  life  pure,  simple,  aspiring, 
effective  ?  Have  I  done  what  I  could  to  make  the  life  of 
those  about  me  more  cheerful,  more  comfortable,  happier? 
Why  am  I  here  ?  For  what  am  I  laboring  ?  Am  I  labor- 
ing for  any  thing  ? 

Simple,  straightforward  questions,  which  the  preacher 
proceeded  to  answer  for  his  hearers,  arousing  all  that  was 
manly  in  them  by  the  warm  sjonpatlry  of  his  manner  and 
the  plain  directness  of  his  language,  showing  them  that 
life  was  merely  lent  to  us,  not  given ;  that  the  earth  was 
a  battle-ground,  where  only  cowards  refused  to  take  their 
part,  and  only  weaklings  cried  out  that  there  was  no  bat- 
tle ;  and  that  the  }~oung  men  within  his  hearing  were 
doing  their  duty,  and  worthily  preparing  themselves  for  th« 
greater  struggles  awaiting  them  in  the  world,  if  they  were 


HIS   HAKVAED  DAYS.  343 

doing  their  work  squarely,  living  purely,  giving  a  hand  to 
their  brothers  who  needed  it,  fearing  God,  and  leaving  the 
result  to  him. 

And,  approaching  the  event  of  Ladbroke's  accident  ano 
death  more  nearly,  he  went  on  to  say,  that  much  as  he 
had  thought,  and  read,  and  discussed  the  matter,  on  one 
side  and  the  other,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe 
that  the  spoils  which  flourished  among  them,  through  one 
of  which  Ladbroke  had  met  iiis  death,  were  harmful,  if 
properly  conducted.  On  the  contrary,  he  believed  that 
what  the  world  needed  as  much  as  any  thing  else  was  a 
stalwart  manhood,  a  strong-limbed  Christianity;  which 
could  make  its  way  against  turbulent  opposition,  and 
which  early  muscular  training  was  calculated  particularly 
to  foster,  if  it  were  only  regarded  as  a  means,  a  divine 
means,  not  an  end.  In  conclusion,  he  begged  the  young 
men,  with  all. the  authority  of  his  sacred  office,  to  heed 
his  words,  to  go  on  to  make  their  sports  and  exercises  all 
serve  the  end  of  a  sturdy,  God-fearing  life,  and  not  allow 

•  them  to  lapse  into  excesses,  and  mere  animal  pastime. 
And  he  urged  that  Ladbroke's  death  would  have  taught 
its  lesson,  and  served  the  purpose  of  the  Most  High,  if  it 
should  make  his  young  hearers  more  thoughtful,  more 
careful  of  life,  more  strenuously  earnest. 

Not  a  young  man  present  but  felt  that  he  was  better  for 
the  dear  doctor's  sermon,  and  made  bravest  of  resolutions 
to  stand  by  the  good  words  of  the  preacher,  who  had 
spoken  to  them  as  a  father,  and  seemed  to  know  so  well 
what  their  young  thoughts  and  trials  were,  and  to  sympa- 
thize with  them  so  keenly. 

A  sweet  anthem  was  sung  by  the  Glee  Club  in  the  organ- 
U>ft ;  a  benediction  full  of  tenderness  was  pronounced  by 

,  •  the  beloved  preacher ;  and  many  a  man  went  out  from  the 
chapel  that  da}',  Med,  as  he  never  had  been  before,  with 
\  sense  of  the  beaut;  of  correct  living,  and  the  manliness 
/of  stout  efldeavor. 


344  HAMMEESMITH: 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  GREAT   QUINSIGAMONT)   RACE. 

"Put  your  hand  upon  the  oar,"  Bays  Charon,  in  the  old  play  to  Bacchus, 
"  ail  1  you  shall  hear  the  sweetest  songs."  — IIicuiNbON. 

"  '  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last?  ' 

Quoth  little  Peterkin. 
•  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,'  said  he ; 

'  But  'twas  a  famous  victory.' "  —  BOUTHKT. 

JOY,  joy  unbounded,  in  the  rooms  of  Goldie,  where  a 
meeting  of  the  Harvard  Boat  Club  was  in  progress. 
Before  that  meeting,  called  to  devise  wa}-s  and  means 
of  replacing  the  three-hundred  dollar  shell  destroyed  in 
the   late    accident    on    the    river,   Goldie    the    glorious. 
Goldie  the  never-despondent,    Goldie,  the   mighty  oars- 
man, produced  a  letter,  and  it  ran  as  follows  :  — 

BOSTON,  June  2, 186  -. 
To  Mr.  GEORGE  GOLDIE, 

President  Harvard  University  Boat  Club, 

Dear  Sir,  — Word  has  reached  me  that  tlie  shell  of  the  'Var- 
sity was  rendered  unfit  for  use  by  the  unhappy  accident  on  the 
river  several  weeks  since.  Knowing  as  I  do,  from  some  slight  ex- 
perience in  boating  matters  at  Cambridge  in  the  small  days  of  the 
sport,  that  the  subscription-list  is  by  no  means  a  popular  or  re- 
markably successful  document  among  undergraduates,  I  desire  to 
say  that  a  nvimber  of  gentlemen,  mostly  alumni  of  the  university, 
take  this  means  of  offering  to  the  Harvard  Boat  Club  a  shell  of 
such  pattern  and  equipment  as  shall  be  decided  upon,  and  from 
whatever  maker  may  be  desired. 

Trusting  that  the  sad  loss  of  Mr.  Ladbroke  may  not  be  irrepara- 
ble, and  that,  if  the  club  shall  decide  to  accept  this  offer  of  a  boat, 
I  may  have  word  to  that  effect  as  soon  as  is  convenient, 
I  am,  my  dear  sir,  very  respectfully  yours, 

GAYTOX  HAMMEKSSIITU, 
For  a  number  of  friends  of  the  University. 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  345 

A  second  letter  laid  before  the  meeting,  which  had  been 
received  two  clays  before  from  Yale,  read  as  follows  :  — 

KEAV  HA  VEX,  May  20,  1S6-. 
ROBERT  MCGREGOR,  Esq., 

Secretary  Harvard  University  Boat  Club. 

Sir,  —  At  a  meeting  of  the  Yale  Xavy  held  this  day,  it  was 
unanimously  resolved,  that  the  sympathy  of  the  navy  and  the 
college  he  extended  to  the  Harvard  University  Boat  Clnh  for  the 
loss  of  Mr.  Ladhroke  of  the  university  crew,  and  an  expression 
given  to  the  hope  that  it  may  not  result  in  the  ahandonment  of 
the  race  at  "Worcester  in  July.  If  any  accommodation  in  the  mut- 
ter of  time  or  boats  is  desired,  I  am  instructed  to  state  that  the 
Yale  navy  places  its  fleet  of  boats  at  your  disposal,  and  will  agree 
to  any  change  in  the  date  of  the  university  race  that  maybe  found 
convenient  for  both  crews. 

Renewing  the  expressions  of  condolence  for  the  loss  of  so  valu- 
able a  member  of  your  crew,  and  requesting  to  be  informed  at 
as  early  a  day  as  possible  if  any  change  or  accommodation  is  de- 
sired, as  stated  above,  I  am,  with  much  personal  regard, 
Your  obedient  servant, 

F.  P.  TEIUIY, 
Secretary  Yale  Navy. 

No  wonder  that  there  was  vast  jo}"  on  the  reading  of 
the  first  of  the  two  letters,  and  that  the  motion  was  im- 
mediately  put,  and  carried  viva  voce.  Xo  difficulty,  evi- 
dently, in  replying  to  the  friendly  offer  of  the  ''Duke" 
and  his  Mends. 

But  what  should  be  said  to  Yale  ?  And  what  possible 
prospect  was  there  of  replacing  Ladbroke  ?  A  crowd  of 
a  dozen  or  more  men,  bound  together  \>y  a  loose  organi- 
sation called  the  Harvard  University  Boat  Club,  was 
gathered  in  Goldie's  rooms  at  this  suddenly-called  meet- 
ing, debating  these  two  immensely  important  questions. 
A  boat  was  read}'  to  their  hands  so  soou  as  the  builder 
.  could  put  it  together  ;  and  McKa}'  was  noted  for  his  de- 
spatch in  turning  out  work  for  the  university.  Five  men, 
as  splendidly^  trained  as  ever  men  were  trained  so  long 


346  HAMMERSMITH: 

before  a  race,  were  ready  to  step  into  it  and  take  theii 
seats,  the  moment  it  arrived  in  Cambridge  waters.  Bui 
who  could  be  found  to  take  up  that  mighty  oar  at  No.  3, 
and  fill  at  all  worthily  the  place  of  poor  Ladbroke,  whose 
superb  strength  and  ever-improving  form  of  rowing  had 
given  the  crew  such  power  and  the  whole  university  such 
hope  ? 

What  answer,  then,  was  made  to  .the  polite  note  of 
Yale,  and  who  it  was  that  took  up  that  oar  at  No.  3,  to 
the  delight  of  the  crew,  the  university,  and  Ilaivard  men 
generally,  may  be  inferred  from  later  developments,  which 
we  are  permitted  to  witness,  together  with  whomsoever  is 
interested  in  athletic  rivalry  and  the  success  of  the  old 
'Varsity. 

Red,  red,  red,  blue,  blue,  blue. 

Red  at  the  throat  of  beautiful  girls,  blue  in  the  hats  of 
beautiful  girls.  Red  on  dainty  parasols,  blue  on  the  whips 
of  Jehus.  Red  on  the  heads  of  horses,  blue  on  the  canes 
of  dapper  young  students.  Red  and  blue,  the  colors  of 
Harvard,  the  colors  of  Yale,  evcrj^where  about  the  shores 
of  Quinsigamond,  a  pretty  wooded  lake  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Worcester. 

All  the  rudd}-  pigment  of  flaming  sunsets,  all  the  blue 
ether  of  mid-summer  heavens,  seemed  to  have  been  bor- 
rowed for  this  gala-day  by  the  merry  3*oung  people  on  the 
borders  of  the  lake,  and  to  be  adding  a  flowery  fringe  to  the 
woodland,  in  whose  afternoon  shadows  they  were  waiting 
for  the  great  Harvard- Yale  race  of  the  year.  If  the  sun, 
looking  down,  mistook  all  this  radiance  for  a  sudden 
efflorescence  under  its  July  warmth,  and  wondered  at  the 
gay  petals  blown  here  and  there  along  the  banks,  he  wag 
not  far  from  right.  For  it  was  a  great  red  rose  from  the 
Cambridge  hot-houses  that  had  burst  upon  the  still  town 
and  quiet  rural  pond  that  afternoon ;  and  the  abundant 


HIS  HAE.VAKD  DAYS.  347 

blue,  that  outshone  the  blue  of  the  wafers,  was  an  exotio 
growth  from  the  direction  of  tue  tropics,  where  it  flourishes 
vigorously  on  the  borders  of  the  sea,  and  whence  it  yearly 
comes  to  match  its  colors  with  those  of  its  bright-ribboned 
sister  of  the  north. 

To  a  group  of  students  chatting  with  the  Darby s,  Miss 
Hammersmith,  and  Miss  rFaj'erweather  in  their  landau, 
i!ome  Breese  and  Pinckney^  walking  rapidly  up  from  the 
direction  of  the  boat-houses. 

"  How  are  they?  how  are  they?  "  asks  Freemantle, 
from  the  box. 

"  All  right,"  answers  Pinckney.  "  Loring  was  a  bit 
under  the  weather  yesterday ;  but  he's  feeling  tip-top 
now.  Oh,  they're  in  beautiful  condition  !  " 

"  Mr.  Pinckney,  how  is  my  cousin?  "  asks  Miss  Darby. 

"  Goldie  !  Did  you  ever  know  him  when  he  wasn't  in 
training  to  row  a  race!  He's  as  fine  as  silk!  "  said 
Pinckney. 

"  I'm  very  glad,"  she  began  —  but  Breese  was  saying 
to  Miss  Hammersmith,  on  the  other  side  of  the  carriage, 
"  Oh,  your  brother  is  in  magnificent  form,  Miss  Hammer- 
smith !  He'll  do  his  share  of  the  work  to-day,  you  may 
depend."  And  Miss  Darby  turned  towards  him  to  hear 
what  he  said.  Her  eyes  brightened  with  pleasure  as  she 
heard  Ms  words,  and  as  Breese  went  on  praising  Mr.  Tom 
and  the  rest.  How  was  Breese  to  know  if  their  bright- 
ness meant  pleasure  that  he  was  there  talking  to  her,  or 
pleasure  that  the  news  he  brought  was  good  news  of  Ham- 
mersmith ? 

"You're  sure  Tom  is  well  and  strong,  Mr.  Breese?" 
asked  Miss  Hammersmith,  looking  earnestly  at  him. 

"I  assure  3~ou  yes,"  he  answered.  "I  never  saw  a 
man  in  better  form  in  my  life,  'pon  my  word !  You'll 
see,  you'll  see."  And  Ruddiman  approached,  and  made 
his  bow,  bedaubed  with  red  from  head  to  foot,  and 


348  HAMMERSMITH  : 

chaperoning  a  small  dog,  copiously  provided  with  the 
same  color. 

"  Miss  Mabel,  what  do  you  think  of  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  Of  what,  Mr.  Ruddiman?"  she  returned.  "The 
dog?" 

"  Oh,  no !  But  he's  a  beaut}-,  isn't  he?  —  Here,  Spot ! 
Down,  I  say !  —  What  do  you  think  of  the  lake,  and 
every  thing?  " 

"It's  very  prettj',  very  pretty  indeed!  But  I'm  so 
anxious  for  the  race  to  begin !  And  I'm  so  afraid  Tom 
wiU  work  too  hard  !  ' ' 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  He'll  take  care  of  himself.  By  the 
way,  —  I  came  near  forgetting  it,  — here's  something  he 
sent  up  to  you.  I've  just  seen  him  at  the  boat-house." 
And  holding  on  to  his  six-inch  dog  with  one  hand,  with 
the  other  he  fished  into  a  side-pocket,  and  brought  up  a 
couple  of  little  wild  rose-buds,  sadly  withered,  and  some- 
what odorous  of  Ruddiman  tobacco. 

"  For  me?  "  asked  Miss  Mabel. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  said.  "  Tom  didn't  say.  Oh,  yes  ! 
he  said,  '  Take  these  up  to  show  'em  I'm  still  alive.'  — 
Down  with  you,  you  beggar  you !  Stop  }-our  snuzzling !  " 

Miss  Mabel  took  the  buds,  and  handed  one  to  Miss 
Darby,  who  was  arranging  it  at  her  throat  when  Breese 
turned  from  talking  with  Professor  Darby,  and  saw  the 
little  adornment :  the  merest  shade  passed  over  his  face, 
for  he  knew  the  famous  wild  rose-bush  by  the  boat-house , 
which  the  crew  tended  so  carefully.  But  every  thing 
else  was  forgotten  when  Freemantle  suddenly  shouted, 
"Here  she  is!  Here's  Yale!  "  as  a  blue-topped  crew 
came  swinging  under  the  bridge,  and  shot  past  the  crowds 
on  shore,  spurting  a  bit,  to  warm  themselves  up. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  beautiful!"  said  Miss  Hammersmith. 
"  How  perfectly  they  row  !  " 

"You  just  wait!"  said  Ruddiman.  "You'll  see 
*omething  finer  than  that  vet ! ' ' 


HIS   HAEVARD  DAYS.  349 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Ruddiman,  what  a  traitor  you  must 
feel  like  to-day,  to  be  talking  against  your  old  college  !  '* 
said  Miss  Hammersmith,  "and  wearing  your  new  lore's 
colors!  " 

"  Wearing  what?  Oh,  yes,  exactly!  "  he  said,  blush- 
ing a  shade  more,  if  discrimination  were  poss'ble,  and 
withdrawing  his  eyes  from  a  neighboring  carriage  in 
which  were  Miss  Summerdale  and  Miss  Pinckney,  with 
Mrs.  Summerdale  and  her  sister  from  Worcester.  "  Ah ! 
'  red  is  the  color  of  life,'  you  know,"  he  added. 

"And  blue  is  for  hope,  is  it  not?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes.  But  hope  without  life  isn't  good  for  much  ;  is 
it,  Miss  Mabel?" 

"Is  life  without  hope  any  better?"  she  asked,  glan- 
cing, as  if  casualty,  towards  the  carriage  of  Miss  Pinckney. 
She  was  a  quick-witted  young  woman,  this  Miss  Mabel, 
if  this  was  her  first  introduction  to  college-scenes,  or  col- 
lege-men rather ;  and  she  had  not  needed  Miss  Darby's 
information  to  be  aware  that  the  heir  of  all  the  Ruddi- 
mans  had  a  vulnerable  spot  in  his  armor,  which  the 
utmost  ingenuity  of  the  lad  could  not  conceal.  Nay,  I 
doubt  not  he  had  a  secret  pleasure  in  letting  all  the  world 
see  the  havoc  that  a  certain  young  Southern  beauty  was 
-  already  making  with  his  coy  affections,  and  felt  that  it 
was  a  noble  spectacle,  —  the  sight  of  Ruddiman  wasting 
away  in  the  fires  of  a  grand  passion. 

"Well,  life  and  hope  each  seem  to  need  the  other 
pretty  badly,  Miss  Mabel,"  he  said.  "Halloo,  there's 
Harvard !  Now  you'll  see  some  rowing,  Miss  Mabel ! 
Hooray!" 

"  'Rah,  'rah,  'rah !  "  came  from  a  multitude  of  throats, 
as  the  old  'Varsity,  pulling  leisurely,  with  beautiful  rhythm 
of  stroke,  glided  out  from  under  the  causeway,  and  took  a 
turn,  as  Yale  had  done,  up  the  lake. 

Goldie   heard  the  well-known   cry,  and  quickened  hia 


350  HAMMERSMITH : 

stroke  a  trifle  ;  the  six  bodies  rose  and  fell  as  regularly  aa 
a  trip-hammer ;  the  six  crimson-covered  heads  went  for- 
ward and  backward  in  perfect  time,  with  absolutely  equa^ 
sweep. 

"  Isn't  it  wonderful?  "  said  Miss  Darby. 

"I  never  saw  any  thing  like  it!"  exclaimed  Miss 
Mabel.  "It's  like  a  machine!  —  Which  is  Tom,  Mr. 
Ruddiman?"  But  she  turned  to  find  Ruddiman  gone, 
fled  to  the  Summerdales'  carriage ;  and  Breese  answered 
her  question. 

"That  is  your  brother,  three  from  the  rear,  —  Goldie, 
Loring,  your  brother." 

"  Good  old  Tom !  "  she  said,  riveting  her  eyes  on  the 
crew,  and  scarcely  breathing  as  she  watched  the  perfect 
motion  with  which  they  sped  over  the  lake. 

Two  guns,  —  boom !  over  the  lake  ;  signal  for  the  boats 
to  come  into  line. 

Yale  and  Harvard  paddle  slowly  down  to  the  judges' 
boat,  and  draw  for  place.  The}T  move  off  to  their  posi- 
tions ;  and  the  rudder  of  each  boat  is  held  in  line  by  a 
friend  in  a  skiff. 

"By  Jove!  Yale  has  the  inside!"  said  Freemantle, 
surveying  the  boats  from  the  box  of  the  landau. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Freemantle?  "  asked 
Miss  Hammersmith. 

"It's  a  mile  and  a  half  up  to  the  turning-stake,  a 
mile  and  a  half  down,  of  course.  They  turn  from  right 
to  left  around  the  stake  ;  and  the  boat  on  the  inside,  you 
can  see,  has  the  greatest  advantage,  that  is,  if  the  boats 
are  abreast  all  the  way.  If  the  boat  on  the  outside  can 
put  clear  water  between  its  stern  and  the  bows  of  the 
inside  crew,  they  are  allowed  to  draw  ahead,  and  turn 
first,  besides  giving  the  rear  crew  its  wash,  and  otherwise 
Impeding  it." 

"  But  can  Harvard  put  —  what  do  you  call  it? — clcai 
water  between  itself  and  Yale  ?  ' '  asked  Miss  Darbv. 


HIS  HARVARD  DATS.  351 

"  Trust  Goldie  for  that !  "  said  Freemantle.  "  A  Har- 
vard  crew's  strong  forte  is  a  quick  start,  and  a  spurt  for  a 
little  distance,  till  it  is  clear  of  the  other  boat.  If  noth- 
ing happens,  Goldie  will  be  in  the  lead  almost  before  they 
pass  us  here :  see  if  I  am  not  correct !  But  there  they 
are:  they 're  off!  " 

The  report  of  a  pistol,  a  quick  flashing  of  oars  by  the 
two  boats,  just  a  little  spray  thrown  into  the  air,  and  the 
great  race  is  begun. 

The  crowd  grows  quiet ;  the  young  ladies  stand  up  in 
their  carriage,  and  look  eager-eyed  at  the  straining  crews ; 
and  suddenly  Harvard  men  break  into  prolonged  cheer- 
ing, as  Freemantle' s  prediction  seems  being  fulfilled,  and 
the  old  'Varsit}T,  fairly  leaping  through  the  water  under 
the  powerful  stroke  of  its  six  young  oarsmen,  creeps  up, 
up,  and  is  almost  clear  of  Yale  as  they  pass  Regatta 
Point. 

'"Rah,  'rah,  'rah!"  "Oh,  weU  rowed,  Goldie!" 
"Well  rowed,  three!"  "Clear  water  already,  by 
Jove!"  "Yes,  but  look  at  Yale!"  "It's  nobody's 
race  yet,  I  tell  you!  "  "What  a  magnificent  spurt  of 
Harvard's !  "  and  a  thousand  other  cries  are  raised  as 
the  crews  fly  past. 

A  crowd  of  men  on  foot,  yelling,  cheering,  waving 
hats,  shouting  vainty  to  the  crews,  dash  by  the  carriages, 
following  the  boats  from  the  start,  and  skirting  the  lake 
for  a  distance,  till  the  nature  of  the  shores  prevents  prog- 
ress. -The  Darbys'  horses  plunge,  the  young  ladies  give 
pretty  little  screams  of  fright,  and  Freemantle  an- 
nounces, — 

"  Yes,  by  Jove,  Yale  is  picking  up  most  tremendously ! 
WiL  you  look  through  my  glass,  Miss  Hammersmith?  " 

"Thanks!  Oh,  she  is,  she  is!  Do  you  think  Yale 
mil  beat,  Mr.  Freemantle  ?" 

"  Hard  to  say,"  aaswered  Freemantle.     "  They've  the 


352  HAMMEKSMITH: 

finest  crew  that  they've  turned  out  for  years  ;  but  so  have 
we, — thanks  to  G oldie  and  your  brother,  —  and  I  think 
it  will  be  a  mighty  close  race." 

And  a  mighty  close  race  it  seemed  to  the  excited  groups 
looking  on  from  shore,  from  boats  along  the  banks,  from 
the  little  steamer  which  punted  and  screeched  along  in 
their  wake.  Yale  was  most  emphatically  crawling  up, 
slowly  but  surely.  Was  G  oldie  allowing  it,  merely  to 
shake  her  off  again,  and  spurt  once  more  for  the  lead 
before  reaching  the  turning-stake?  Or  was  his  crew 
already  exhausted  by  the  powerful  work  at  the  quick 
start,  and  already  out-rowed  by  Yale  ? 

We  may  trust  Goldie,  as  Freemantle  had  said.  He 
has  not  set  his  grand  stroke  for  this  crew  for  months  now, 
and  tried  every  exhausting  trick  of  quick  start,  repeated 
spurt,  long,  many-milcd  pull,  and  final  burst  of  speed,  all 
to  no  purpose.  He  will  pull  a  glorious  race  to-day ;  and, 
if  he  is  beaten,  he  will  be  fairly  and  squarely  beaten  by  a 
superior  crew.  It  will  be  a  crew  with  a  head  to  it,  too, 
that  will  beat  him ;  for  Goldie's  work  is  as  much  of  the 
head  as  of  the  muscles,  and  3*011  may  be  pretty  sure  that 
he  has  gauged  the  capacities  of  Yale,  as  well  as  his  own 
crew,  long  before  this,  and  knows  perfectly  what  he  is 
about  when  Yale  seems  to  be  out-rowing  him,  and  fighting 
for  the  lead. 

But. the  crowds  on  shore  are  in  a  fearful  excitement: 
the  betting  fraternity  rush  about  wildly  to  ' '  hedge ' '  their 
bets  ;  Yale  stock  is  perceptibly  advancing ;  and  a  buzz  of 
wonder,  inquiry,  excited  talking,  runs  through  the  mass 
of  people  straining  their  eyes  up  the  still  lake. 

Meanwhile  the  crews  arc  thrashing  the  water  far  up  on 
their  course,  spurting  alternately  for  the  lead.  The  sur- 
face of  the  water  is  as  quiet  as  a  mill-pond.  Nature 
seems  holding  her  breath,  like  the  interested  young  women 
on  shore,  and  looking  on  in  anxious  suspense  at  the  two 


HIS  HABVABD  DAYS.  353 

crews  of  her  young  heroes,  striving  in  friendly  rivalry. 
And  surely  the  light  ripples  seen  on  the  upper  borders  of 
the  lake  are  but  the  result  of  the  quick  breathing  of  water- 
nymphs  and  startled  deities  of  the  woody  neighborhood, 
peering  out  from  leafy  retreats  upon  the  manly  young 
invaders. 

Five  minutes,  eight  minutes,  ten  minutes,  pass,  —  short 
enough  periods  to  careless  spectators,  if  any  such  there 
are,  but  amply  long  for  the  tense  oarsmen,  bending  to 
their  work  like  the  athletes  that  they  are,  putting  in  prac- 
tice all  the  skill  and  muscle,  and  dogged  plucky  persever- 
ance, that  they  can  command.  Only  McGregor  glances 
now  and  then  out  of  the  boat  to  mark  their  course,  and 
note  the  progress  of  Yale :  the  rest,  with  clinched  teeth, 
and  eyes  glued  to  the  backs  of  the  men  in  front  of  them, 
give  all  their  care  to  the  strength  and  unison  of  their 
stroke,  which  Goldie  the  glorious,  most  perfect  of  oars- 
men, is  setting  them. 

Ten  minutes,  twelve  minutes,  pass.  The  crews  have 
been  many  minutes  out  of  sight,  a  wooded  point  cutting  off 
the  upper  end  of  the  course  from  view,  and  increasing  the 
anxiety  and  wonder  of  the  crowds  below.  Field-glasses 
are  levelled  at  the  woody  headland,  the  band  stops  play- 
ing its  bucolic  misery,  and  at  last  a  shout  is  raised,  — 

"  Yale,  Yale  !  "  "  No,  Harvard,  Harvard,  Harvard !  " 
as  a  boat  appears  far  out  in  the  middle  of  the  lake,  pull- 
ing powerfully  on  the  return. 

"  What  is  the  color  of  their  handkerchiefs?  " 

"  Crimson,  crimson  !  " 

"  No,  blue,  blue  !  Yale,  Yale,  Yale !  "  and  the  Yale 
crowd  grows  frantic  with  excitement. 

"Is  it  blue?"  asked  Miss  Hammersmith.  "Is  it 
'  blue,  Mr.  Freemantie?  Please  tell  me  quick !  " 

"  It  looks  very  much  like  it,"  he  answered.  "  But  I 
can't  see  very  well,  —  the  reflection,  or  something.  "Will 
'you  take  the  glass?  " 


354  HAMMERSMITH: 

"  It  is  blue,  it  is  blue,  Ellen,"  she  said  mournfully, 
putting  down  the  glass.  "  Why  did  I  ever  come  here? 
And  where  is  Harvard  ?  Poor  Tom  !  —  Can  any  thing 
have  happened,  Mr.  Breese?  O  Mr.  Breese !  can  the} 
have  been  upset  ? ' ' 

Breese  shook  his  head  dejectedly.  "  I  don't  know," 
said  he.  "  Something  has  surely  occurred."  The  young 
ladies  looked,  oh,  so  pretty  and  interested  as  they  stood 
gazing  up  the  lake,  breathing  quickly !  Ruddiman  sung 
out  to  Freemantle,  "  I  say,  Free,  will  you  take  my  dog  up 
there?  I'm  afraid  he'll  get  stepped  on."  To  which  Free- 
mantle  returned  answer,  "  Go  'long  with  j-our  pup  !  Take 
care  of  your  own  live-stock,  can't  you?  "  And  Harvard 
men  generally  were  a  good  deal  of  Freemantle 's  petulant 
frame  of  mind,  when  the  very  air  seemed  to  split  with  a 
tremendous  shout  from  five  hundred  throats,  — 

"Harvard,  Harvard,  Harvard!  There  she  is!  Har- 
vard!" as  the  'Varsity  suddenly  appeared  hugging  the 
very  shores  of  the  headland,  and  so  concealed,  until  now, 
from  the  sight  of  the  crowds  below.  Yale  was  in  the 
centre  of  the  lake,  pulling  beautifully. 

"  She's  ahead !" 

"Who's  ahead?" 

"Harvard!" 

"  No,  Yale." 

"  Yes — no  !  Jove,  but  it  is  close  !  "  And  the  two  crews, 
almost  exactty  abreast,  and  apparently  putting  every  pound 
of  weight  on  their  strokes,  came  gliding  and  leaping  down 
the  course,  heading  for  the  line,  somewhat  below  Regatta 
Point. 

"I  thought  Goldie  knew  what  he  was  up  to,"  said 
Freemantle.  "  'Rah,  'rah,  'rah !  " 

"It  isn't  over  3'et,"  said  Breese.  "But  I  think  we 
have  them."  And  the  cool  philosopher  climbed  on  the 
box  with  Freemantle,  and  looked  down  upon  the  strug- 
gling crews  now  ncaring  the  point. 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  355 

"Yale,  Yale,  Yale  !  Yale  has  them  !  Beautifully  rowed. 
Tale  !  "  was  now  the  shout,  as  the  two  boats  were  nearly 
opposite  the  point ;  and  Yale,  though  a  length  in  the  rear, 
her  bows  lapping  the  rudder  of  Harvard,  was  gradually 
but  visibly  leaping  to  the  front,  and  lapping  more  and 
more  the  'Varsity  boat. 

Can  it  be  that  Harvard's  men  are  out-rowed  and  out- 
generaled? Have  their  repeated  spurts,  and  that  tremen- 
dous struggle  to  turn  the  stake  first  (in  which  they  were 
successful) ,  used  up  all  then-  magnificent  reserve  of  power  ? 
It  was  cruel ;  it  hardly  seemed  possible :  but  anj'body, 
looking  on  from  the  shore,  could  see  that  another  minute 
of  such  rapid  gaining,  and  Yale  would  be  in  the  front, 
crossing  the  line,  the  victor. 

But  what  is  this  ? 

If  an  inquisitive  water-god  had  pricked  up  his  sub- 
aqueous ear  somewhere  near  the  ever-watchful  McGregor, 
in  the  'Varsity  boat,  he  would  have  heard  him  say  quietly 
and  slowry,  "  Now,  George,  hit  her  up  !  "  He  would  have 
heard  Hammersmith  pass  along  the  word,  "Hit  her  up, 
George!"  And  the  next  instant  the  old  chieftain  had 
quickened  his  stroke  three  or  four  to  the  minute,  laying 
his  broad  back  down  to  the  oar,  and  feeling  his  fine  crew 
answer  his  effort  with  increased  vim. 

"Ah,  well  rowed,  Goldie  !  "  "  Superbly  rowed,  Lor- 
ing  !  "  "  Harvard,  Harvard  !  "  "  Xow  for  a  spurt  such 
as  you  read  of!"  "Hammersmith,  Hammersmith!" 
"  O  glorious  !  "  were  some  of  the  shouts  about  the  3~oung 
ladies,  as  the  'Varsity  picked  up  the  quickened  stroke  of 
Goldie,  and  jumped  away  from  Yale  almost  immediately, 
showing  clear  water  between  them. 

"Dear  old  Tom!"  said  Miss  Mabel,  seizing  Miss 
'  Darbj-'s  hand.  "How  he's  working  away!  Isn't  he? 
Isn't  he  a  dear  fellow?"  A.ud  Miss  Darby,  hardly  no« 
icing  the  double  question,  turned  and  beamed  on  her 


1 


356  HAMMEKSMITH : 

Breese  smiled  down  from  the  box.  Pinckney,  returning 
on  a  run  from  the  headland  with  a  crowd  of  excited  men. 
passed  them,  shouting,  "  How's  that !  Isn't  that  glorious, 
Miss  Ellen  ?  "  Ruddiman  extricated  his  crimson  pup  from 
a  fearful  combat  with  a  blue-ribboned  terrier  fired  to  ven- 
geance by  defeat ;  and  with  a  crash  of  music  from  the 
band,  and  a  rain  of  cheers  and  shouts  from  the  mass  of 
their  friends,  Harvard  crossed  the  line  a  couple  of  lengths 
in  the  lead,  after  one  of  the  closest  races  on  record. 

Men  were  still  screaming,  cheering,  hugging  each  other, 
throwing  their  hats  in  the  air,  when  Ruddiman  cried  out, 
"  Can't  stand  this  anj- longer !  Must  go  and  hug  some- 
body !  "  and  dashed  off,  with  his  pup  in  his  arms,  to  find 
consolation  in  the  embrace  of  some  hilarious  classmate 
longing  for  the  same  relief  to  Ms  feelings. 

The  j'oung  ladies  laughed  as  the  little  red  man  rushed 
off.  The  two  crews  were  shaking  hands  over  the  sides 
of  their  boats,  down  at  the  finish ;  and  presently  Harvard 
came  rowing  slowly  and  beautifully  to  the  point,  carrying 
the  champion  flags. 

The  band  has  been  pla}'ing,  "  Lo,  the  conquering  hero 
comes  !  "  It  stops.  Somebody  calls  out,  "  What  time, 
fellows  ?  "  —  "  Eighteen  fifty-three ! ' '  shouts  McGregor. 
And  a  line  of  six  bronze-backed  young  fellows  turn  their 
faces  shoreward,  and  grin  with  delight,  — grin  like  a  row 
of  Roman  soothsayers,  —  while  the  air  is  filled  again  with 
shouts  and  cheers  and  the  dear  old  name  of  Harvard. 

The  great  race  is  over ;  and  yet  it  is  not  over.  An 
almost  severer  trial  is  on  hand  for  the  young  heroes,  when 
they  enter  the  Bay  State  House  in  the  evening,  coming 
up  from  the  boat-houses,  and  find  a  surging,  boisterous 
crowd  of  men,  from  all  the  colleges  within  easy  reach  of 
Worcester,  talking,  shouting,  prophesying  already  for  next 
year's  races. 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  357 

Groldie  is  seized,  Loring  is  seized,  Hammersmith, 
McGregor,  each  member  of  the  crew,  is  seized,  and 
mounted  on  the  shoulders  of  enthusiastic  students,  who 
parade  them  up  and  down  the  halls,  cheering  each  in  turn 
and  calling  vainly,  "  Speech,  speech !  "  But  nobod}r  will 
speak.  McGregor  says  emphatically,  "  No,  I'll  be  hanged 
if  I  Ml  make  a  speech!  What!  pull  h'ke  a  demon  in  the 
boat,  and  then  come  up  here  to  be  made  to  speak  a  piece ! 
Not  if  I  know  mj'self !  "  But  he  laughed  while  delivering 
Li-s  truculent  words.  The  crowd  shouted,  "McGregor, 
McGregor!  Three  cheers  for  Mac!  "  and  felt  that  they 
might  well  afford  to  excuse  him  from  speaking,  if  he 
would  always  give  as  good  account  of  himself  in  the  boat 
as  to-day,  —  and  when  had  a  McGregor  of  the  line  ever 
done  otherwise? 

But  presently  "Speech,  speech!  Goldie,  Goldie !  " 
was  called  ;  and  the  old  warrior,  mounted  on  the  shoulders 
of  Breese,  Pinckney,  and  others,  was  cheered  and  invoked, 
and  cheered  again,  till  he  had  to  stop  bowing  and  grinning 
at  the  crowd,  and  in  self-defence  attempt  to  say  some- 
thing. 

"  Well,  fellows,  I  don't  know  what  I  can  say."  ("  Oh, 
any  thing,  any  thing !  Three  cheers  for  Goldie  !  "  'Rah, 
'rah,  'rah !  )  "I  can't  say  I  thank  you  for  the  honor  con- 
ferred," ("Three  cheers  for  the  'honor  conferred'!" 
'Rah,  'rah,  'rah !)  "  because  I  feel  that  every  man  in  the 
crew  is  as  much  entitled  to  the  credit  of  to-da}- 's  victory 
as  I."  ("  Three  cheers  for  '  to-day's  victory.'  fellows  ! 
Now ! "  'Rah,  rah,  'rah !)  "But  I  can  say  one  thing,  fel- 
lows, and  that  is  this,"  ("Three  cheers  for  'one  thing'  I " 
'Rah.  'rah,  'rah!)  "that,  after  the  loss  of  Ladbroke  two 
months  ago,  there  was  only  one  man  in  all  the  college  that 
could  fill  his  place,  and  help  us  win  the  victory  that  we've 
won  to-day;  and  yon  know  who  that  is  as  weh1  as  I  do." 
('Rah,  'rah,  'rah!  "Now,  fellows,  three  times  three  foi 


358  HAMMEESMITH : 

Hammersmith!"  'Rah,  'rah,  'rah!  'Rah.  'rah,  'rah! 
'Rah,  'rah,  rah !  "  And  three  cheers  for  his  uncle ! "  'Rah, 
'rah,  rah ! )  "  And  I  know  that  every  man  in  the  crew  feels 
the  same  about  it  that  I  do,"  ("  Three  cheers  for  '  every 
man  in  the  crew ' !  "  'Rah,  'rah,  'rah !)  "  or  I  should  not 
dare  to  speak  of  it.  Now  you've  done  a  lot  of  cheering," 
("Three  cheers  for  <  a  lot  of  cheering '!"  'Rah,  'rah, 
'rah !)  "  and  I  want  to  propose  a  cheer.  It's  a  great  thing, 
fellows,  to  have  a  good  square  race,  isn't  it?  "  ("Yes, 
yes  ! "  'Rah,  'rah,  'rah !)  "And  we've  had  a  good  square 
race,  and  we  haven't  a  single  word  to  say  against  Yale  ;  I 
hope  Yale  hasn't  a  word  to  say  against  us."  ("Three 
cheers  "  — )  "  Hold  on !  "  said  Goldie.  "  I  say,  I  hope 
they  haven't  a  word  to  say  against  us.  Every  man  in  their 
crew  has  behaved  like  a  gentleman  towards  us,  from  the 
first  day  that  we  met  on  the  lake ;  and  I  believe  every 
man  in  their  crew  believes  that  they  were  fairly  and 
squarely  out-rowed  to-day,  and  is  rcad}^  to  acknowledge  it, 
as  I'm  sure  we  should  have  been  ready  to  do,  if  we  had 
been  beaten."  ("Three  cheers  for" — )  "Hold  on,  I 
say  !  It's  a  good  thing  to  have  a  fair  and  square  race,  — 
no  fouls,  no  tampering  with  boats,  no  hard  feeling  on  either 
side.  We've  had  such  a  race  this  year,  I  think  I  can  say ; 
and  I  want  all  yon  fellows  that  are  coming  up  to  take  our 
places  to  remember  what  I  say,  and  see  to  it  that  you 
have  just  such  downright,  straightforward,  out-and-out 
honest  races  as  we've  had  to-day.  Ever3Tbody  feels  better 
after  it ;  and  the  University  need  not  feel  ashamed  of  us, 
and  try  to  put  a  stop  to  boating  among  us,  if  we  only 
behave  as  we  ought,  and  conduct  every  thing  on  the 
square. 

"Now,  fellows,  I've  made  a  long  speech  for  me  "  ("No, 
no!  Go  on,  go  on!")  "but  I  can't  help  thinking  a 
good  deal  on  the  subject,  because  I  believe  in  these  things 
most  emphatically.  I  want  to  see  boating,  and  every  thing 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  359 

ulse  that's  manly,  flourishing  among  us  ;  and  I  think  it's 
a  downright  shame  to  let  it  be  broken  up  or  degenerate, 
because  two  crews  cannot  meet  and  have  a  perfectly  fair 
trial  of  strength  and  skill,  as  we've  had  to-day.  Now, 
we  couldn't  have  had  this  kind  of  a  race,  if  Yale  had  not 
met  us  half  way,  and  treated  us  exact!}'  as  well  as  we 
treated  them.  So  what  I  want  to  propose  is  three  times 
three  for  Yale, — her  crew  and  her  men  general^.  Let 
them  be  regular  top-lifters !  "  And  the  old  stroke  waved 
his  hat ;  and  I  query  if  ever  the  broad  corridors  and  halls 
of  the  Bay  State  House  had  listened  to  such  heart)',  rever- 
berating cheers  as  the  whole  concourse  —  Harvard,  Yale, 
Williams,  Amherst,  Brown — gave  in  response  to  Goldie's 
call. 

The  Yale  stroke  was  called  on  for  a  speech,  which  he 
gave  most  gracefully,  after  the  manner  of  Yale  men, 
among  whom  off-hand  speaking  receives  more  attention 
than  it  used  to  receive  in  Cambridge  in  Hammersmith's 
day,  and  returned  the  compliment  of  Goldie  by  leading 
off  in  an  answering  chorus  of  cheers  for  Harvard. 

Then  another  attempt  was  made  at  Harvard  oratory ; 
and  Hammersmith,  blushing  profusely,  was  hoisted  aloft, 
and  the  halls  rang  again  with  cheers ;  for  the  handsome 
3"oung  fellow  with  the  brown  eyes  and  the  broad  shoul- 
ders, that  had  done  such  execution  to-day,  did  not  need 
Goldie's  praise  to  arouse  the  ample  enthusiasm  with  which 
he  was  received.  Why  he  had  not  rowed  the  }*ear  before, 
when  Harvard  was  so  unhappily  beaten ;  how  he  had  for- 
sworn rowing  most  persistently,  and  given  in  only  when 
Ladbroke  had  died,  and  Goldie's  personal  intercession 
had  been  added  to  his  own  growing  conviction  that  he 
was  called  on  to  make  good  Ladbroke 's  place,  after  the 
peculiar  relation  of  Ladbroke  and  himself  to  the  'Varsity 
f  crew  in  these  two  different  years,  —  all  this  was  known 
to  Yale  almost  as  well  as  to  Harvard  men.  When  the 


360  HAMMEKSMITH : 

stalwart  young  fellow  was  lifted  up,  therefore,  and  both 
colleges  looked  on  the  man  who  had  had  so  peculiar  a  his- 
tory, and  had  done  such  sturdy  work  in  the  boat  to-day, 
no  wonder  there  were  excitement  and  enthusiasm. 

He  was  not  expected  to  say  much,  and  he  did  not  dis- 
appoint the  expectation :  — 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  fellows,  for  your  cheers  ;  but 
I  can't  take  any  great  credit  to  myself  for  the  day's 
victory."  ("  Oh,  yes,  you  can !  Three  cheers  for  Ham- 
mersmith !"  'Rah,  'rah,  'rah!)  "You  see,  I  had  to 
make  up  for  last  year,  and  "  —  ("  You've  done  it,  you've 
done  it!  "  'Rah,  'rah,  'rah!)  "  and  so  I  confess  I  put 
every  pound  of  muscle  I  had  on  my  oar  to-day,"  ("  Three 
cheers  for  his  '  oar  to-day,'  fellows  !  "  'Rah,  'rah,  'rah !) 
"  and  I  intend  to  be  on  hand  in  future,  whenever  I'm 
wanted."  ("  We'll  always  want  you,  shall  we  not,  fel- 
lows?" 'Rah,  'rah,  'rah!)  "Now,  I  don't  know  that 
I've  any  thing  more  to  sa}r.  —  Put  me  down,  won't  you, 
Breese?"  ("No,  no!  Give  us  a  sentiment,  give  us  a 
sentiment !  ")  "  A  sentiment?  I  don't  know  any  senti- 
ment !  "Well,  I  think  we've  cheered  about  every  thing 
to-night,  fellows  ;  but  there's  one  thing  that  we  have  not 
cheered."  ("Out  with  it,  out  with  it!  Give  us  a 
rouscr.")  "  I  propose  three  times  three  for  Boating, 
fellows,  —  Boating  with  a  big  B,  —  and  for  everj-body 
that  is  fond  of  pulh'ng  an  oar."  And  great  manly  cheers 
were  given  for  the  favorite  sport  of  the  day,  —  cheers 
which  filled  the  house  with  echoes  from  cellar  to  attic, 
and  went  whirling  out  of  doors  and  windows  into  the 
night  air,  till  they  must  have  reached  the  God  of  Boating 
himself,  resting  on  his  oars  in  the  neighboring  lake  ;  and 
I  wonder  that  he  did  not  come  up  with  all  his  rosy-muscled 
crew  to  return  thanks  in  person  for  the  young  fellow's 
sentiment. 

Hammersmith,  then,  was  put  down,  and  Loring  ant1 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  361 

others  were  swung  up,  and  made  to  say  a  word,  whether 
they  would  or  not.  The  cheers,  the  merriment,  the  bois- 
terous noise,  were  kept  up  till  everybody  was  tired,  and 
everybody  had  exhibited  his  exceeding  joy  over  the  day's 
victory. 

Gradually  the  crowd  melted  away.  A  few  hilarious 
notes  were  still  heard  issuing  from  upper  windows  of  the 
hotel,  where  convivial  celebrations  were  in  progress. 
A  few  attempts  were  made  to  utilize  the  chandeliers  as 
gymnastic  apparatus  by  jolly  acrobats  fond  of  swinging. 
A  few  hastily-organized  companies  of  infantry  paraded 
the  corridors,  with  monotonous  tramp,  and  strenuous  effort 
at  melodious  music.  But  the  speeches,  the  toasts,  the 
celebration  proper,  were  over ;  and  most  of  the  men,  with 
hoarse  voices,  and  faces  red  from  cheering,  left  the  hotel, 
and  appeared  later  at  the  grand  bah1  given  by  the  citizens 
of  Worcester  in  honor  of  the  sports. 

If  Miss  Mabel  had  been  excited  by  the  race  and  her 
dear  Tom's  achievements  on  the  lake,  she  was  dazzled  by 
the  ball  in  the  evening.  The  merry  dances,  the  champion 
flags  set  up  on  the  stage,  the  music,  the  fair  women  and 
fairer  girls  ;  the  bevy  of  3'oung  squires  hovering  about  her, 
attracted  by  the  star-like  radiance  of  her  beauty,  and  a 
certain  girlish  frankness  such  as  might  be  expected  in  a 
Hammersmith  maiden ;  yes,  even  the  blithe  Ruddiman, 
released  now  from  canine  care,  but  still  flamboyant  with 
his  "  new  love's  colors;"  and  the  severe  Breese,  taking 
another  lesson  in  microscopic  analysis,— all  went  to  make 
up  a  pageant  quite  bewildering  to  the  young  girl  from  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson. 

But  when,  late  in  the  evening,  the  two  crews  entered, 
with  a  number  of  friends,  and  the  hall  rang  with  cheers 
.  (as  the  whole  town  had  been  ringing  for  half  a  day  now) , 
and  Tom  and  Goldie  came  up,  and  received  the  congratu- 
lations of  the  Darby  group,  blushing  ever  so  becomingly 


362  HAMMERSMITH : 

through  their  brown  cheeks,  and  looking  so  immense  and 
strong  among  the  pale  dancers  and  non-boating  men,  Miss 
Mabel's  cup  was  more  than  full. 

"Dear  Tom,  I'm  so  very,  very  glad  for  you!  "  she 
said  as  Tom  was  shaking  hands :  he  had  not  seen  them 
since  the  race. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing !  "  answered  the  young  hero,  smiling. 
How  white  his  teeth  looked,  in  contrast  with  the  deep 
brown  of  his  face  and  neck !  And  what  a  destructive 
grasp  he  gave  with  his  great  hand,  only  squeezed  into 
gloves  this  evening  with  the  utmost  difficulty ! 

"  Aren't  you  almost  tired  to  death,  Tom?  "  she  asked. 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  Hammersmith.  "  Not  a  bit  of  it !  — 
Miss  Darby,  can  you  allow  this  beautiful  waltz  to  go  un- 
improved ?  Will  j'ou  dance  ?  ' ' 

"With  pleasure,"  she  answered,  "  if  you  aren't  too 
great  a  hero  to  condescend  to  frivolities."  But  Ham- 
mersmith exhibited  a  remarkable  condescension.  Breese 
looked  on,  and  wished  to  Heaven  that  he  were  a  boat- 
ing-man. Puny  men  envied  Mr.  Tom  his  magnificent 
strength  ;  and  Ruddiman  the  flashy  confided  to  Miss  Mabel 
that  Tom  was  a  ' '  most  confounded  lucky  dog ! ' '  Miss 
Mabel  didn't  like  the  expression  in  the  least,  but  thought 
him  the  handsomest  and  strongest  and  best  of  brothers. 

They  brought  her  word,  also,  of  the  great  demonstra- 
tion in  the  hotel  halls,  —  the  speech  that  Goldie  had  made, 
complimentary  to  Tom ;  and  how  Tom  had  been  lifted 
upon  the  shoulders  of  his  friends,  and  had  made  a  speech 
himself,  and  been  cheered  and  cheered  by  both  colleges. 
Later  in  the  evening  Mr.  Tom  was  made  to  take  Ms  place 
in  the  Glee  Club,  on  the  stage  (he  had  been  greatly 
oiissed  at  their  concert  the  evening  before),  and  was 
cheered  again  as  he  stepped  on  the  platform.  So  that  the 
young  girl  was  quite  bewildered  by  it  all,  —  the  race,  the 
dazzling  ball,  the  ovation  to  her  dear  Tom,  and  the  whir" 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  363 

of  excitement  in  which  he  was  caught  up  and  carried 
along,  while  he  seemed  all  the  time  to  keep  his  head,  and 
look  about  him  as  though  it  were  the  most  ordinary  matter 
in  the  world.  "What  a  cool  old  Tom  he  is  !  "  she  thought 
to  herself. 

And  when  it  was  all  over,  and  Tom  and  Breese  had 
escorted  the  ladies  to  their  hotel,  —  Miss  Darby  thanking 
Breese  for  his  kindness,  with  an  excess  of  earnestness 
which  was  quite  feminine,  but  quite  incomprehensible  to 
Breese,  who  was  not  aware  that  anybody  but  himself  had 
regarded  the  secondary  position  in  which,  as  a  non-boat- 
ing man,  he  had  been  placed  during  the  day  and  evening, 
—  when  it  was  all  over,  and  Tom  and  Breese  had  walked  off 
together,  the  young  women,  you  may  be  sure,  sat  a  long 
while,  after  the  manner  of  young  women,  talking  it  over, 
and  crooning,  as  is  their  fashion,  over  this  "  bright,  bright 
day." 

"  I  never  had  such  a  pleasant  time,"  said  Miss  Ham- 
mersmith at  last.  "And  I'm  so  happy  that  you  asked 
me  to  come  with  you,  Ellen  dear.  I  had  no  idea  that 
Tom  was  such  a  great  man  in  his  coUege,  though !  Why 
hadn't  you  told  me?  Ellen,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 
she  asked,  as  she  saw  Miss  Darby  sitting,  with  her  hands 
folded  in  her  usual  manner,  looking  before  her  into 
vacancy. 

"Oh,  nothing!"  she  answered,  rousing  herself,  and 
giving  Miss  Hammersmith  one  of  those  looks  which  are 
said  to  be  common  with  young  women,  and  are  believed 
to  mean  a  great  deal.  "  I  was  thinking  that  you  must 
promise  me  you'll  come  on  to  Class  Day  next  year,  dear 
Mabel.  You  will  enjoy  it  so  much;  and  he  will  —  your 
brother  will  be  so  glad  to  have  you !  You  shall  stay  with 
me,  and  your  mother  too ;  and  come  as  long  as  possible 
before  Class  Day:  it's  so  delightful  in  Cambridge  in 
June  !  I  shall  admire  to  have  you." 


364  HAMMEESMITH: 

"  You're  very,  very  kind,  Ellen ;  and  I  shall  be  only  too 
happy  to  do  so  if  mamma  will  consent." 

And  so  the  two  young  people  sat  talking  far  into  the 
night,  and  cementing  a  friendship  which  had  existed  only 
in  a  spasmodic  correspondence  since  the  days  of  Miss 
Darlry's  Fresh  Pond  accident,  and  in  a  few  days'  inti- 
macy before  the  Quinsigamond  race.  And  I  envy  the 
little  rosebud,  sadly  withered  and  faded  to  be  sure, 
which  Miss  Darby  took  from  her  hair,  and  placed  in  a 
glass  on  the  mantel,  whence  it  looked  down  upon  the  two, 
talking  themselves  to  sleep  in  ever  briefer  and  more  lan- 
guid speech,  —  for  it  must  have  been  a  pretty  sight. 


HABVABD  DAYS.  365 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

A   MOUNT   DESERT   EPISODE. 

"  Nature  will  not  be  stared  at."  —  MARGARET  FULLEB. 

"  Likewise  Glorious  Followers,  who  make  themselves  as  Trumpets,  of  the 
Commendation  of  those  they  Follow,  are  full  of  Inconvenience ;  For  they  taint 
Businesse  through  want  of  Secrecie." —  BACOW. 

DID  Mr.  Gayton  Hammersmith  ever  forgive  his  coer- 
cive nephew  and  the  too  urgent  Darbys  for  luring 
him  to  spend  two  mortal  weeks  at  Mount  Desert  during 
this  junior  vacation  of  Mr.  Tom's?  —  Mr.  Gayton,  who 
might  have  been  taking  his  comfort  at  his  club,  or  been 
made  much  of  by  those  dear,  delightful  Minturns  at 
Nahant,  or  been  gadding  about  from  one  grand  country- 
house  after  another,  ever  welcome,  ever  garrulous,  and 
ever  well  fed.  And  here  he  was  at  Mount  Desert,  which 
then  as  now,  to  be  sure,  was  glorious  in  mountain  gorges, 
grand  towering  precipices,  and  wave-beaten  cliffs,  but 
which  recalled  too  closely  that  Swedish  inscription  of 
Thoreau's,  "You  will  find  at  Trolhate  excellent  bread, 
meat,  and  wine  —  provided  you  bring  them  with  you." 
How  the  old  ' '  Duke  ' '  thanked  his  stars  on  the  day  when 
he  escaped  from  the  thin  banquets  of  mine  host  Higgins, 
and  came  in  sight,  on  the  following  day,  of  the  yellow 
dome  of  the  State  House,  and  was  sure  of  a  good  dinner 
flt  his  club,  with  Antoine  —  God  bless  Antoine  !  —  to  wait 
on  him ! 

I  know  that  it  is  all  changed  now.  I  know  that  cock- 
ueyism  and  civilization  have  carried  their  manners  and 


366  HAMMEESMITH: 

customs  to  the  lovely  island,  into  its  every  nook  and  cor- 
ner ;  that  huge  caravansaries  have  supplanted  the  primi- 
tive rookeries  of  the  days  of  Hammersmith  the  discov- 
erer ;  and  that  the  abundant  Robertses,  Rodicks,  and 
Higginses  have  retired  on  the  profits  from  corner-lots,  on 
many  of  which  Mr.  Gayton's  nabob  friends  have  erected 
comfortable  cottages  for  their  summer  life.  Ah,  what 
serenades  and  glees  we  have  sung  on  their  broad  piazzas 
and  in  their  ample  parlors,  when  the  Glee  Club  was  pres- 
ent in  force,  and  the  picnic  party  from  Schooner  Head 
had  returned,  and  the  moon  was  full !  But  tliis  was  some 
years  after  the  martyrdom  of  the  "  Duke."  I  know,  too, 
that  acres  of  Harvard  men  have  since  that  date  explored 
every  cranny  of  the  wild  little  island,  from  South-west 
Harbor  to  Bar  Harbor, — paradise  of  Higginses,  —  and 
have  talked  breezy  nonsense  with  man}r  a  short-kilted 
young  creature,  rosy  as  to  her  cheeks,  startling  as  to  her 
trig  mountain-dress,  on  every  peak,  through  ever}-  glen,  of 
the  place.  Have  I  not  heard  since  then,  in  every  drawing- 
room  from  Boston  to  San  Francisco,  these  same  3'oung 
women  raving  in  a  sane,  feminine  wajr,  over  the  glories 
of  the  many-featured  island,  and  the  "wonderful  combi- 
nation of  sea  and  land  attractions ' '  ?  No  wonder  that  a 
clever  Bostonian  recently  concluded  that  the  artesian  flow 
of  adjectives  was  about  exhausted,  and  that  a  fresh  word 
should  be  employed  to  describe  the  charms  of  the  place, 
as  well  as  to  rebuke  extravagant  praise  of  nature  by 
bursting  youth.  "Yes,"  said  he,  "it  is  neat:  Mount 
Desert  is  very  neat." 

It  was  essentially  a  new  land,  with  a  primitive  popula- 
tion, a  primitive  mode  of  life,  and  a  primitive  style  of 
feast,  in  the  j'ear  when  the  Darbys,  the  Summerdales, 
"  Duke  "  Hammersmith  and  his  nephew,  Breese  and  Rud- 
diman,  with  a  few  others,  —  the  Flamingoes  and  Scurrya 
of  New  York,  the  Bltidsoes  from  Boston,  and  severa' 


HflB  HARVARD  DAYS.  367 

blistered  youth  who  rowed  thither  in  wherries,  —  came  to 
molest  the  ancient  solitary  reign  of  the  natives,  agog  with 
wonder  at  the  invasion. 

The  "Duke"  and  Mr.  Tom  had  come  and  gone,  the 
"Duke"  thanking  Ms  stars,  as  has  been  said,  at  the 
termination  of  his  martyrdom,  Mr.  Tom  not  quite  so 
eager  as  he  to  leave  the  hearty  life  of  the  island  ;  and  the 
name  of  Mount  Desert  might  not  have  appeared  at  all 
at  this  stage  of  the  chronicle,  had  it  not  been  for  a  cer- 
tain excursion,  made  a  day  or  two  after  Mr.  Tom's  de- 
parture, yi'hich  indirect!}'  exerted  quite  a  decided  influence 
on  the  young  fellow's  subsequent  history. 

The  Darius,  the  Flamingoes,  the  Summerdales,  the 
Scurrys,  gorgeous  in  petticoat  and  jaunty  hat,  and  numer- 
ousry  escorted  by  the  young  men  of  the  party,  were  climb- 
ing and  exclaiming,  and  running  pleasant  little  dangers 
up  among  the  slippery  rocks  and  the  shadowing  firs  of  the 
glen,  — a  fine  bit  of  a  steep  canon  between  Green  and  Dry 
Mountains.  Ruddiman  was  on  hand,  elaborate  in  knicker- 
bockers and  costly  walking-shoes,  manj*  colored  as  to  his 
raiment, — a  striking  chromo-lithograph,  as  he  marched 
ahead  boldly,  grasping  an  alpen-stock,  and  offering  super- 
fluous aid  to  the  younger  Flamingo,  also  bright  of  hue. 
Young  Pynetop,  from  Bangor,  and  his  friend  Bricker- 
brack,  the  elder  Albertson,  who  had  just  arrived,  Breese, 
stoutl}*  shod  and  soberly  dressed  for  the  scramble,  and 
Professor  Darby,  were  also  there.  The  latter  was  in 
charge  of  a  numerous  caravan,  consisting  of  Mrs.  Darby, 
Mrs.  Siunmerdale,  a  spinster  Scurry  of  remarkable  ambi- 
tion, but  very  short  breath,  and  pretty  Miss  Edith  Sum- 
mer dale,  by  no  means  a  might y  pedestrian,  but  fired  with 
emulation  to  keep  up  with  the  stronger-footed,  and  going 
off  into  merry  little  screams  as  she  was  helped  over  a 
fallen  tree,  or  had  to  jump  the  brook,  clamber  up  a  mossy 
rock,  or  perform  other  brave  deeds  on  their  way  up  the 


368  HAMMERSMITH: 

ravine.  Miss  Darby,  in  trimmest,  of  blue  walking-suits  and 
stout  shoes,  with  a  simple  knot  of  garnet-colored  ribbon 
at  her  throat,  —  which  shone  fair  and  white,  set  off  by  her 
dark  blue  collar,  — and  with  a  sensible,  broad-rimmed  hat 
of  commonest  straw,  trudged  quietly  among  the  foremost, 
hdping  herself  over  difficulties  by  means  of  a  long  walk 
ing -stick,  and  seeming  not  to  need  the  aid  of  Breese,  who 
yet  hovered  near,  and  was  ready  to  offer  it  when  ho 
thought  fit. 

"  What  a  chattering  lot  those  Flamingoes  and  Scurrys 
are  !  "  said  Breese,  with  some  spirit,  as  they  were  nearing 
the  head  of  the  glen. 

"  They  are.  But  I  suppose  they  enjoy  themselves  in 
their  way;  and  that's  what  they  came  for,  I  imagine," 
said  Miss  Darby,  balancing  herself,  with  outstretched 
arms,  on  a  wet  log  by  which  she  was  crossing  the  stream. 

"  Be  careful  there,  Miss  Darby !  — But  they  seem  such 
an  incongruous  element  in  a  place  like  this !  " .  added 
Breese.  "They  might  as  well  come  out  in  then*  ball- 
dresses  to  coquet  with  old  dame  Nature,  for  any  good 
they'll  get  out  of  a  tramp  like  this !  Look  at  Miss  Fla- 
mingo, la  plus  jeune!  " 

"'  Chacun  a  son  gout,"  said  Miss  Darby,  looking  back  at 
the  party  some  distance  below  them,  and  at  the  Flamingo 
in  question,  who  was  receiving  a  wild  flower,  captured  at 
great  risk  to  his  precious  neck  by  the  nimble  Ruddiman, 
and  was  going  off  into  a  series  of  extravagant  exclama- 
tions, — 

' '  I  never  saw  any  thing  half  so  sweet !  I  never  saw 
any  thing  so  pretty !  Look,  Sue  !  N'est-cepas?  Mercil 
Mr.  Ruddiman,  you  are  too  kind !  How  very  brave  3-011 
are!"  And  Ruddiman  the  brave,  sweeping  a  magnifi- 
cent; salute  with  his  hat  (and  disclosing  sundr}'  suspicious 
green  spots  in  his  light-colored  trousers,  as  he  climbs 
ahead),  mounts  a  prominent  rock,  and  accomplishes  a 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  369 

terrific  jodel,  —  a  peculiar  war-whoop  of  his  own  inven- 
tion, which  he  has  raised  several  times  during  the  after- 
noon, when  his  pent-up  feelings  were  likely  to  smother 
him  unless  allowed  escape. 

"  What  a  fool  that  Euddiman  makes  of  himself!  "  ex- 
claimed Breese,  as  thejodel  went  echoing  up  through  the 
glen. 

"  How  severe  you  are,  Mr.  Breese!  "  answered  Miss 
Darby. 

"But  doesn't  he?" 

"  He  is  a  funny  little  man  most  assuredly,  — tres  drole, 
I  heard  Miss  Flamingo  call  him  last  evening.  But  he's 
a  harmless  creature  ;  and  I  really  think  he's  quite  a  pic- 
turesque addition  to  the  landscape." 

"  So  would  a  red  cow  be,  or  a  donkey,  for  that  matter," 
said  Breese.  "  I  can't  see  what  business  such  people 
have,  what  right  they  have,  in  a  place  like  this." 

"But  you  wouldn't  chain  them  up  at  home !  " 

"  I  would  lock  everybody  like  the  Flamingoes  and  the 
S curry s,  and  our  }*oung  jodeller  here,  into  some  place,  — 
New  York,  we  will  say,  —  and  not  let  them  see  a  forest, 
or  a  mountain-peak,  till  the}'  would  promise  to  look  at 
them  in  a  decent  way,  and  to  leave  their  simpering  city 
airs  behind  them." 

"  But  who  is  to  decide  what  the  decent  way  is,  as  you 
say?  "  asked  she. 

"  You  or  I,  or  anybod}r  who  knows  that  Nature  is  not 
meant  to  be  patronized,"  returned  Breese  quickly.  "  Any- 
bocty  who  feels  that  Nature  is  a  great  mystery,  to  bo  looked 
upon  with  awe,  in  silence." 

"  Oh,  gracious  !  "  said  Miss  Darby.  "  Where  do  you 
^et  such  gloomy  ideas,  Mr.  Breese?  Shut  everybody  up 
.11  prison  till  they  can  promise  to  sit  down,  and  never 
»mile  in  the  face  of  Nature,  or  look  upon  her  as  any  thing 
lut  awful  and  fearfully  mysterious !  That's  worse  than 


870  HAMMERSMITH : 

your  '  Century  of  Hubbub  '  doctrine.  I  am  afraid  you  are 
a  very  sombre  man  at  heart,  Mr.  Breese." 

"No,  I'm  not;  no,  I'm  not,"  answered  he  almost 
sharply.  "  But  tell  me  truly,  doesn't  it  grate  on  you  to 
see  a  crowd  like  that  flirting  and  chaffing  and  coquetting 
in  such  a  lovely  spot  as  this  ?  ' ' 

"  Of  course  I  think  that's  all  very  sill}-,"  she  answered. 
"But,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  think  your  great  mistake 
in  looking  at  the  world  in  general,  is  in  thinking  that  it's 
made  only  for  the  choice  spirits  and  those  with  lofty 
ideals  of  every  sort,  leaving  no  room  (in  your  world)  for 
us  poor  creatures  who  mean  well  enough,  perhaps,  but 
don't  exactly  know  how  to  set  to  work." 

"  Please  not  class  yourself  with  the  '  poor  creatures,' 
Miss  Darby,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  know  why  not,"  she  answered.  "  I  may  not 
like  '  that  crowd,'  as  you  call  it,  or  approve  of  much  that 
they  seem  to  enjoy ;  but  I  can't  pretend  that  I  have 
fathomed  the  secrets  of  Nature,  or  have  au}r  right  to  lock 
my  fellow-creatures  up  among  brick  walls  till  they  come 
to  my  way  of  thinking,  I'm  very  sure  !  " 

"  Oh !  that's  only  my  way  of  putting  it,"  said  Breese. 
And  she  continued  to  call  him  a  very  severe  critic,  and  he 
objected  that  he  thought  he  was  only  looking  at  the  mat- 
ter as  any  impartial  man  would  view  it.  But  the  waning 
sunlight  warned  them  that  they  must  make  haste  to  de- 
scend through  the  glen  homeward. 

Rudcliman's  j'idel  was  already  sounding  the  retreat ; 
and  that  jocund  individual  was  to  be  seen  perched  on  a 
bowlder,  waving  his  hat  to  those  in  the  van.  Albertson 
and  others  were  ahead  of  Breese  as  they  were  going  up. 
Breese  passed  the  word  along,  and  the}*  all  began  descend- 
ing ;  Breese  and  Miss  Darby  soon  being  left  quite  in  the 
rear,  as  they  continued  more  intent  on  their  word}*  wax 
than  on  making  haste  out  of  the  ravine. 


HIS  HABVARD  DAYS.  371 

' '  Imagine  a  party  of  Greeks  of  the  best  era  going  out 
for  an  afternoon  in  a  beautiful  Attic  ravine,  with  such  a 
dock  of  Flamingoes  and-Ruddimans  in  their  wake !  "  said 
Breese,  laughing,  as  they  were  descending. 

"  There,  again,  you  are  thinking  of  only  the  select 
spirits,  Mr.  Breese.  Of  course,  we  only  hear  of  the  great 
uien,  the  illustrious,  among  the  Greeks,  or  the  Romans,  or 
any  people.  But  3*011  cannot  mean  to  say  that  there  were 
not  simple,  silly,  frivolous  people,  of  the  Ruddiman  type, 
—  if  I  may  be  so  severe,  — among  the  Greeks,  as  well  as 
among  us,  Mr.  Breese?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  answered.  "  But  which  are  we 
to  follow,  —  the  silly,  or  the  illustrious?  Or  don't  you 
believe  in  an  ideal  of  any  kind  ?  ' ' 

"  You  are  very  unkind  !  I  shall  not  answer  that  ques- 
tion ;  for  you  know  that  I  do,  if  I  can  only  be  sure  that  my 
ideal  is  correct.  Of  course  we  should  copy  the  illustri- 
ous, if  possible,"  she  continued,  "but  not  give  the  silly 
and  the  weak  over  to  outer  darkness  because  they  are 
silly  and  weak.  I  don't  believe  you  have  a  particle  of 
sympathy  in  your  composition,"  she  added,  forgetting 
herself  for  a  moment,  and  rather  nettled  by  his  severe 
manner  of  regarding  every  thing. 

"  I  assure  you,  Miss  Darby,  3*ou  are  overstating  the 
case,"  he  was  beginning,  when  Miss  Darby  suddenly 
slipped  from  a  smooth,  moist  rock  on  which  she  was  step- 
ping, and  came  down  in  a  little  heap  at  its  base,  with  a 
sharp  cry  of  pain. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Miss  Darby  !  "  exclaimed  Breese, 
jumping  to  her  side  in  an  instant.  "  Are  you  hurt?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  think  not,"  she  answered.  "  If  you  will 
get  my  stick  —  thanks  !  Yes  :  I  can  walk  all  right.  But 
Uow  silly  I  was  to  make  a  mis-step  !  I  am  a  silly  Greek, 
ixon't  you  see?  "  and  she  took  up  her  stijk,  and  continued 
'  descending  carefully,  Breese  keeping  a  sharp  eye  on  her? 
Unobserved,  and  at  last  saying,  — 


372  HAMMERSMITH  : 

"  You  are  in  pain,  Miss  Darby.  Are  you  sure  yon  arc 
not  hurt  ?  Shall  I  go  for  help  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  no,  indeed!"  she  answered.  "I  should  be 
ashamed  of  mj'self  to  put  any  one  to  trouble !  But  I 
think  I'll  sit  down  here  a  moment,"  and  she  sat  down  in 
a  patch  of  sunlight,  and  winced  just  a  bit  when  she 
moved  one  of  her  feet.  Breese  looked  a  moment  at  the 
fair  figure  sitting  there,  dazzling  fair  in  the  sunbeams,  and 
t:  en  said,  — 

"  Hadn't  I  better  call  for  somebody?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  she  answered.  "  But  if  you  do  not  mind 
looking  to  see  where  they  are?  "  And  he  went  ahead  a 
bit,  and  had  a  view  down  the  glen,  while  she  loosened  her 
boot,  and  began  to  feel  better.  He  reported  nobody  in 
sight.  She  was  sure  that  she  could  walk  perfectly  well 
now ;  and  they  made  their  way  slowly  out  of  the  ravine, 
into  the  thick  wood  at  its  base. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  she  said,  as  they  emerged  into  the 
footpath  among  the  trees;  "  but  I  must  sit  down  again. 
I  shall  be  all  right  in  a  minute." 

"  If  it  is  your  ankle,"  said  Breese  boldly,  "  the  shorter 
you  stop,  the  better :  it's  always  best  to  keep  moving,  if 
you  can." 

Presently  she  started  again,  and  kept  up  pluckily, 
darkness  coming  on  apace,  and  Breese  looking  a  bit 
anxious.  Again,  however,  she  was  obliged  to  sit  down, 
and  again  she  went  on,  till  Breese  saw  that  they  could 
not  make  much  further  headway  at  that  rate ;  and  Miss 
Darby  consented  that  he  should  call  for  help. 

He  run  quickly  to  a  turn  in  the  path,  shouted  as  vigor- 
ously, as  a  robust  young  American  can  shout ;  waited  a 
moment,  no  answer ;  hallooed  again,  no  sound  but  the 
light  breath  of  the  trees  in  the  air  above  him ;  and  he 
came  running  back. 

"  Too  bad !  "  said  he.  "  Couldn't  raise  a  reply  to  save 
my  life  !  How  do  you  feel?  " 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  373 

"  Nicely,  thanks ;  perhaps  I  can  walk  a  little  more 
now."  But  five  steps  convinced  her  of  her  error;  and 
Breese,  with  some  alarm,  saw  her  sitting  down  again  en  a 
leaf-covered  mound. 

"  If  you  could  lean  on  me,"  Breese  began. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  nearest  house  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Over  a  mile  to  the  mill ;  but  there's  nobody  living 
there  now,  you  know.  It  must  be  a  mile  farther  to  the 
next  house." 

"  Were  the  carriages  to  meet  us?  "  she  asked. 

"  No :  your  father  sent  them  back  after  the  lunch. 
Shall  I  run  to  the  first  inhabited  house?  " 

She  looked  up  at  the  darkening  heavens.  A  rising  wind 
swept  through  the  tree-tops  ;  a  night-bird  screeched  over- 
head ;  and  she  answered,  — 

"No:  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  left  here  alone.  What  a 
bother  I  am!" 

Breese  whistled  under  his  breath  to  himself  a  moment, 
and  struck  the  ground  several  times  with  his  walking- 
stick. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  he  finally.     "  Could  I "  — 

"  I  don't  see,"  she  began. 

"I  might"  —  he  continued.  "Miss  Darby,  I  don't 
see  but  that  I  shall  have  to  carry  you,"  he  announced 
decisively. 

"  But  I  should  kill  you  !  You  don't  know  how  heavy  I 
am !  "  she  answered ;  and  she  laughed  at  the  dreary  per- 
plexity of  the  situation.  The  laugh  re-assuring  Breese,  he 
caught  her  up  in  his  arms,  after  more  expostulation  on  her 
part,  and  started  to  carry  her  down  the  woody  pathway, 
—  a  novel  role  surely,  for  a  man  who  had  been  accused 
of  having  not  a  particle  of  sympathy  in  his  composition ; 
who  had  so  little  a  while  ago  been  forming  Drave  resolu- 
tions not  to  be  drawn  into  making  the  acquaintance  of 
distracting  j'oung  women  in  Cambridge ;  and  who  a  month 


374  HAMMERSMITH : 

ago,  a  day  ago,  would  have  thought  it  as  likely  that  he 
would  be  dining  with  the  Czar  of  all  the  Russias,  or 
flirting  with  an  empress,  as  that  he  would  be  carrying  a 
young  woman  in  his  arms  through  leafy  woods  like  these, 
and  that  young  woman  Miss  Darby. 

"You  mustn't  carry  me  so  far  without  resting,  Mr. 
Breese  !  Aren't  you  almost  dead?  "  she  asked,  as  Breese 
put  her  down  for  a  moment,  and  drew  a  long  breath, 
making  it  as  short  as  he  could. 

"Oh,  no!"  said  he,  "you're  as  light  as  a  feather." 
She  laughed  at  the  idea  (you  might  have  seen  a  pretty 
blush  on  her  brown  cheeks  if  there  had  been  light 
enough)  ;  and  presently  Breese  was  carrying  her  again 
down  the  hill  towards  the  mill,  glad  now  that  he  had 
kept  himself  in  such  splendid  training,  but  feeling  that  it 
would  take  him  about  all  night  to  carry  this  plump  young 
woman  to  the  nearest  house,  and  yet  not  appearing  to 
dislike  the  strenuous  labor. 

Not  an  easy  task  this,  one  would  say  who  knows  what 
it  is  to  be  carrying  a  hearty  young  American  girl  in  his 
arms  for  a  mile  or  two  in  the  dark  ;  though  you  do  relate, 
my  beloved  scholar  of  Old  England,  how  you  transported 
in  like  fashion  a  disabled  pedestrian  countrywoman  of 
yours,  rising  ten  stone  and  a  half,  for  Heaven  knows 
how  many  miles  across  your  green  island  fields  ! 

So,  with  rests  and  expostulation,  slight  expressions  of 
pain  from  Miss  Darb}',  and  commiseration  from  Breese. 
who  strode  onward  as  fast  as  ever  his  legs  would  carry 
him  with  his  fair  load,  they  reached  the  old  mill.  They 
sat  a  while  listening  to  the  night-sounds,  —  the  water  run- 
ning idly  past  the  old  building,  the  moaning  of  the  wind 
through  the  trees  about  them,  —  and  watching  the  clear 
stars  flowing  in  under  a  black  tide' Of  clouds  that  was 
rolling  up  from  the  east.  Fully  a  couple  of  hours  must 
have  elapsed  since  the  accident  in  the  glen. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  375 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Breese  !  "  said  Miss  Dar- 
!>y.  "  I  shall  never  go  on  a  picnic  or  excursion  again  as 
long  as  I  live !  I  think  I  had  better  be  chained  up  at 
home,  as  you  were  suggesting,  and  not  allowed  to  come 
out  till  I  can  take  care  of  m3'self.  I  am  a  perfect  Jonah 
always,  I  do  declare!  What  time  is  it?  Wouldn't  you 
suppose  m}'  father  should  be  coming  out  by  this  time?  " 

"It  is  only  a  little  after  eight,"  he  answered.  "Oh, 
we're  safe  enough  here !  I  feel  sure  that  somebody  will 
oome  soon  ;  and,  if  not,  I  can  easily  run  down  to  the  near- 
est house  and  get  a  team.  How  is  j'our  foot  now?  " 

'  *  Nicety,  thanks  ;  but  I  can't  bear  a  particle  of  weight 
on  it,"  and,  putting  it  to  the  ground,  she  winced  again 
with  the  pain. 

Xobody  appearing,  the  clouds  rolling  up  blacker  and 
more  threatening,  and  Miss  Darby  still  objecting  to  be  left 
in  the  lonely  woodland  spot,  Breese  caught  her  up  again  in 
his  arms,  and  was  crossing  a  field  near  by,  when  thej'ddel 
of  Ruddiman  was  heard  in  the  distance,  and  lights  soon 
appeared  bobbing  towards  them.  An  ancient  vehicle, 
creaking  and  wheezing  through  the  night,  presently  drew 
up  alongside  of  them,  and  the  professor  jumped  out  in 
great  excitement. 

"  Heavens,  Ellen,  what  a  fright  you  gave  us  !  What  is 
it?  And  how  did  you  get  lost?  " 

••  We've  not  been  lost,  papa  dear.  I  sprained  my  ankle 
in  the  gleru  Mr.  Breese  shouted  and  called  for  you,  but 
all  in  vain  ;  and  he  —  we've  just  succeeded  in  getting  as 
far  as  here,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Breese  has  been  as  kind  as 
he  could  be,"  she  added. 

"  Whoa,  back,  you  beasts!"  Ruddiman  was  shouting 
to  his-  alarmed  animals,  which  had  never  dreamed  of 
such  a,  pace  as  that  to  which  they  uad  just  been  put ; 
and  the  asthmatic  conveyance  was  turned,  Miss  Darby 
ivas  lifted  carefully  upon  the  cushions,  and  the  four  drove 


376  HAMMERSMITH: 

home  slowly,  to  the  relief  of  the  startled  horses,  and  the 
far  greater  joy  of  the  party  gathered  on  the  steps  of  the 
Higgins  establishment,  and  consumed  with  anxiety. 

It  was  not  a  dangerous  sprain.  A  few  days  of  grace- 
ful invalidism,  a  few  days  of  smothering- attention  and 
Flamingo  gorgeousness  of  sympatlry,  and  Miss  Darby  was 
quite  herself  again,  and  equal  to  almost  any  thing  but 
hard  pedestrian  work. 

Some  idea  may  be  had  of  the  extreme  sensitiveness  of 
Breese's  nature,  however,  when  it  is  said,  that,  long  before 
Miss  Darby  was  able  to  join  the  various  excursions  which 
went  on  day  after  day,  he  had  left  the  place,  and  returned 
to  Boston ;  to  coach  a  freshman  who  was  coming  up  to 
fall  examinations,  he  said,  but  really  to  avoid  the  pointed 
allusions,  the  good-natured  chaff,  and  the  semi-sentimen- 
tal innuendoes  which  his  connection  -with  the  glen  mis- 
hap brought  upon  him. 

Miss  Darby  was  kindness  itself  in  her  reference  to  the 
affair,  thanking  him  ever  so  gratefully  for  his  ready  aid  ; 
and  Breese  could  not  admire  sufficiently  the  womanly  tact 
she  showed  in  never  allowing  the  matter  to  be  discussed 
when  he  was  present.  Nor  could  he  sufficiently  applaud 
her  great  good  sense  in  never  alluding  in  the  slightest 
way  to  the  precise  manner  of  her  conveyance  from  the 
glen  to  the  old  mill,  of  which  everybody  soon  knew, 
of  course,  — thanks  to  Ruddiman,  and  the  natural  love  of 
gossip  common  to  such  resorts,  —  and  which  became  the 
basis  of  most  of  the  chaff  and  nonsense  aimed  at  Breese. 
It  was  strong  and  womanly  in  her  not  to  make  prudish, 
absurd  objections  when  he  had  proposed  to  carry  her,  and 
she  saw  there  was  no  other  way  of  leaving  the  woods  ;  it 
was  kind  and  thoughtful  to  make  light  of  it,  and  pass 
it  off  with  a  joke,  while  he  was  trudging  along  with  her, 
and  feeling  so  pleasantly  uncomfortable  in  her  behalf; 
but  it  was  the  height  of  strength  and  thoughtfulness,  and 


HIS  HABVAED  DAYS.  377 

all  that  is  sweetly  womanly,  never  afterwards  to  allude  to 
it  in  the  most  indirect  way.  though  by  no  means  chary  of 
her  thanks,  spoken  and  unspoken. 

But  the  others,  or  many  others  of  the  part}',  bah !  And 
Ruddiman !  Breese  could  not  endure  it  all.  If  he  had 
not  entertained  the  slightest  sentimental  regard  for  Miss 
Darby,  if  she  had  been  no  more  to  him  than  the  most 
cxclamator}-  of  the  Flamingoes,  he  would  have  had  the 
same  loathing  of  the  underbred  way  in  which  his  name 
and  Miss  Darb}-'s  were  associated,  and  in  which  people 
made  merry  at  her  expense  and  his. 

It  would  have  been  vastly  better  if  Breese  could  have 
carried  Ruddiman  away  with  him,  or  muzzled  him  effectu- 
ally before  he  left,  —  better  for  Breese,  better  for  the  absent 
Hammersmith.  For  as  ever}-  slight  affair  of  Ruddiman' s 
own  soon  grew  to  most  abnormal  proportions  by  virtue  of 
the  young  fellow's  quickening  imagination,  and  love  of  an 
audience,  so  the  most  harmless  events  transpiring  about 
him  were  fanned  into  greatness  b}-  his  abundant  gossip 
and  inflating  spirit.  Men  stood  aghast  at  their  own  histo- 
ries as  they  heard  them  noised  about  the  Cambridge  halls, 
until  the}-  were  traced  to  Ruddiman  the  romancer,  when 
they  lifted  their  eyebrows,  and  said  quietly,  "Oh,  Ruddi- 
man !  " 

So  the  brilliant  historical  romancer  was  busy  now  with 
this  last  episode  in  Breese's  life.  Hadn't  he  had  an  im- 
portant part  to  play  in  it  himself?  And  was  a  charming 
bit  of  biography  to  be  lost  to  the  world,  merely  because 
of  the  trouble  of  composition  ?  Hadn't  he  had  the  dis- 
tinguished honor  of  rescuing  the  young  couple  in  question  ? 
Hadn't  he  heard  the  young  woman  tell  her  father  in  the 
carriage,  on  the  way  home  (sotto  roce,  to  be  sure,  but 
*vhat  lightest  whisper  can  history  disregard,  else  what 
were  history  ?) ,  —  hadn't  he  heard  her  inform  her  father 
that  Breese  had  carried  her  down  from  the  glen  in  his 


878  HAMMERSMITH: 

arms  ?  And  what  more  inviting  topic  could  that  Ruddiman 
intellect,  of  which  his  mother  had  spoken  so  rapturously, 
find  anywhere  to  amplify  into  credible  historj',  than  this 
same  fact  ? 

Before,  and  long  after,  Breese  had  left  the  Darby  party 
on  the  island,  therefore,  the  nimble  Ruddiman  intellect 
and  the  rosy  Ruddiman  imagination  were  at  work  upon 
this  theme,  ornamenting  it  with  all  manner  of  flowery 
addition,  driving  Breese  into  exile,  then  drawing  fertile 
inferences  from  the  very  fact  of  his  going  away  so  sud- 
denly, and,  altogether,  preparing  quite  a  spicy  little  ro- 
mance for  the  edification  of  the  college-world  during  the 
coming  solemn  senior  year. 

The  first  thing  that  met  Hammersmith,  then,  when  he 
returned  to  Cambridge  in  the  fall,  was  this  delightful 
bantling  of  Ruddiman's,  which  had  waxed  and  grown 
remarkably  lusty  during  the  few  weeks  of  the  young 
man's  tendance,  —  a  romantic  bantling,  which  was  cal- 
culated to  raise  quite  a  different  interest  in  Breese,  the 
severe  scholar  and  self-sufficient  philosopher,  now  thought 
to  be  going  the  way  of  all  men,  after  all. 

"What  regard  Hammersmith  paid  to  this  latest  romance 
of  Ruddiman's,  what  was  the  moving  cause  of  Breese's 
abrupt  withdrawal  from  the  Darby  party,  and  what  fur- 
ther effect  the  meddlesome  Ruddiman  had  upon  the 
fortunes  of  the  two  friends  Hammersmith  and  Breese, 
the  course  of  this  history  will  tend  in  some  slight  way  to 
exhibit. 

Happy  Ruddunan,  prancing  gayly  through  life,  tram- 
pling down  every  thing  that  comes  in  his  way  !  Unhappj 
those  on  whose  tender  fields,  and  into  whose  careful  pre- 
serves, his  destructive  tread  shall  come  1 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  379 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

SENIOR  YEAR,    AND   ANOTHER  PLUNGE   BY   BREESE. 

"  One  who  surpasses  his  fellow-citizens  in  virtue  is  no  longer  a  part  of  the 
dly.  Their  law  is  not  for  him,  since  he  is  a  law  to  himself." — ABISTOTLE. 

"  Scaliger  said  of  Erasmus, '  8i  minor  esse  voluit,  major  fuisset.' "  —  SELDEN. 

"Everybody  knows  what  whippings  are;  but  nobody  has  as  yet  found  out 
what  love  is."  —  HEINE. 

SENIOR  year,  —  the  last  brief  resting-place,  under  the 
shadow  of  Alma  Mater's  protecting  elms,  before  the 
youth  puts  on  his  harness,  and  plunges  into  the  whirling 
fight  without.  Ah,  me  !  the  great  plans,  the  close  friend- 
ships, the  profound  gravity,  of  that  final  year ! 

The  verdanc}T,  the  simplicity,  the  ardent  spirit  of  frolic, 
of  his  earlier  days  are  passed  ;  and  the  young  man  stands 
clothed  with  the  mantle  of  dignity  and  maturity,  counting 
himself  already  as  one  of  the  great  company  engaged 
in  the  world's  warfare  outside  the  college-gates.  How 
eagerty  he  listens  now  to  the  shouts  and  the  clang  of  that 
warfare,  viewing  it  from  his  sheltered  niche  !  How  easy 
to  win  seem  its  victories,  its  rich  spoils,  its  comfortable 
places,  to  the  youth  untrained  in  its  bitter  reverses,  its 
sad  irony  of  reward,  its  unequal  conditions  of  battle ! 
The  world !  —  what  is  it  but  a  second  college  campus, 
where  the  youth  has  but  to  march  forth  high-hearted,  reso- 
lute, and,  lo !  all  its  honors  and  prizes,  and  satisfying 
applause,  are  his  again ! 

So  the  peaceful  hum  went  on  in  the  old  quadrangle, 
.throughout  the  time-honored  halls  of  the  university;  and 
uU  tho  country  roundabout  listened  to  the  high  resolves 


380  HAMMERSMITH: 

and  friendly  vows  of  the  youth  as  they  paced  its  walks 
and  lanes,  its  distant  hills  and  woods.  Could  there  be 
any  doubt  of  the  future,  when  this  man  at  your  side,  and 
many  another  like  Mm,  on  whose  friendship  3-011  could  rely, 
was  joined  to  }*ou  by  indissoluble  bonds,  and  had  declared, 
if  not  by  words,  yet  by  eloquent  devotion,  that  he  would 
stand  by  you,  whatever  came?  And  the  arm  that  was 
linked  in  yours  as  you  paced  the  fair  college-walks,  ur 
the  river-bank  at  sunset  to  see  the  crews  come  in,  or  saun- 
tered on  moonlit  evenings  by  the  houses  of  your  friends, 
and  talked  in  a  princely  and  sentimental  way  of  this  or 
that  fair  inmate,  dreaming  happily,  let  us  hope,  —  could 
this  arm  ever  fail  you?  Would  it  ever  be  withdrawn 
entirely,  or  forget  to  return  the  generous  pressure  of  those 
steadfast  days  ?  Ah,  happy,  happy  augury !  Confident 
hope  and  artless  trust  of  young  manhood's  time  !  What 
of  later,  more  suspicious  confidence  can  equal  your  un- 
doubting  sincerity  and  buoyant  strength? 

And  Breese,  all  this  time,  while  his  name  was  being 
connected  so  industriously  with  Miss  Darb}r's? — thanks  to 
Ruddiman  and  kindred  gossips.  How  shall  I  express  the 
change,  sudden,  and  yet  not  sudden,  that  had  come  over 
the  severe  student,  the  aspiring  philosopher,  the  man 
strongly  intrenched  against  the  light  attacks  of  contempo- 
rary men  and  women?  How,  in  the  short  space  that  can 
be  allotted  to  it  in  this  biography,  may  I  indicate  the 
effect  of  the  long  acquaintance,  the  frequent  interviews, 
the  many  meetings  with  Miss  Darby  in  the  social  world  of 
Cambridge,  which  have  been  not  so  much  mentioned  as 
hinted  at  in  these  pages?  Or  shall  I  say  at  once,  —what 
you  have  long  ago  surmised,  —  that  Breese  had  dropped 
his  shield,  and  lowered  his  lance,  confessing  himself  con- 
quered by  Love,  the  all-conqueror  ? 

Yes,   Breese   the    all-powerful,    Breese,   the    crusader 


HIS  HAKVAKD  DAYS.  381 

against  society,  Breese,  the  man  "without  a  particle  of 
sympathy  in  his  composition,"  had  fallen  victim  to  the 
same  wide-shooting  urchin  that  brings  us  all  down  sooner 
or  later.  He  was  burning  with  the  same  light  fever 
which  shall  fasten  upon  you,  my  pretty  miss,  please 
God,  and  set  your  little  heart  ablaze  for  a  certain  dear 
object,  let  us  hope,  to  be  faithful  and  steadfast,  and 
fi i jail 3*  to  find  a  little  answering  blaze  lighting  up  the  dear 
object  for  whom  }'ou  are  consuming  yourself :  else  what 
a  sacrifice  and  a  wasteful  conflagration  we  shall  have ! 

Stern  warrior  as  he  was,  accustomed  to  dispute  every 
inch  that  he  gave  an  invader,  he  had  many  a  stout 
tussle  with  himself,  many  a  flag-of-truce  and  parley  with 
the  freebooter  Love.  It  was  of  no  use.  Tell  me,  you  who 
have  fought  against  it,  and  cried  it  down,  and  would  have 
none  of  it,  is  it  an  easy  victory  that  you  have  sought? 
And  you  who  have  fled  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth, 
forswearing  its  very  existence,  —  a  vessel  touches  on 
your  coast,  a  queen  from  out  the  East  steps  grandly 
ashore,  you  look  into  her  eyes,  and  down  go  your  vows 
and  yourself  at  her  feet :  is  it  not  so  ? 

No,  }'ou  can  no  more  escape  it  than  ducks  can  keep  out 
of  the  water,  or  the  pretty  birds  help  twittering  and  mat- 
ing in  the  spring-tune.  It  is  a  law  of  nature ;  and,  for 
one,  I  am  infinitely  amused  at  the  awful  profundity  of 
youth,  with  their  "  curly,  gold  locks,"  who  are  so  fond  of 
declaring  their  superiority  to  the  tender  passion.  It  is 
vastly  diverting  as  a  spectacle ;  but,  lo !  a  turn  of  the 
kaleidoscope,  a  little  change  in  bits  of  color  and  lace,  a 
droop  of  the  eyelids,  and  the  interesting  sceptic  dis- 
covers new  beauty  in  life,  and  sighs  and  ogles,  and  mo- 
mently expires,  with  the  weakest  and  most  eager  of  us. 

And  if  you  are  a  3'oung  woman,  a  very  young  woman, 
of  course  you  do  not  assert  your  superiority  to  this  tender 
Influence:  what  young  woman  ever  did?  You  may  be 


382  HAMMERSMITH : 

dying  from  it ;  but,  oh,  how  carefully  and  gracefully  you 
conceal  its  terrible  effects  on  you !  How  religiously  you 
cherish  every  slightest  word  that  the  dear  object  has 
spoken  to  you !  And  that  little  box,  always  locked,  on 
your  bureau,  —  how  full  it  is  of  light  souvenirs  !  — bits  of 
ribbon  associated  with  him,  rosebuds  and  posies  of  every 
color  under  heaven,  perhaps  a  curl  or  two  of  his  beloved 
hair.  Yes ;  but  you  are  so  modest  and  sweet,  and  en- 
tirely correct  with  it  all !  And  you  might  go  on  and  die, 
with  your  pretty  secret  wrapped  about  }Tour  heart,  before 
you  would  tell  a  soul  of  3'our  consuming  trouble.  But  let 
us  hope  that  the  dear  object  may  spare  the  world  so  sad 
a  spectacle,  and  you  so  lingering  a  death,  and  may  dash 
up  on  his  fiery  charger  (of  course  he  keeps  a  noble  charger, 
and  rides  most  beautifully,  like  a  —  like  a  —  what  would 
you  call  it?  —  like  a  centaur),  and  whisk  you  awaj^, 
scarcely  listening  to  your  remonstrances.  For  that  is  as 
it  should  be,  unless  we  wish  that  the  faithful  female  heart 
should  continue  to  yearn  and  burn,  and  at  last  sigh  itself 
out  in  tender  sobs,  —  that  is  as  it  should  be,  I  say;  for 
certainly  we  men  would  not  wish  it  otherwise  :  nor,  what- 
ever views  we  may  have  about  your  "  rights  "  (of  which 
you  will  hear  enough  later  in  life) ,  would  we  wish  you,  in 
these  matters,  to  be  other  than  the  modest,  secretive,  and 
thoroughly  charming  creatures  that  you  are,  loyal  to  your- 
selves, and  suffering  the  shears  of  the  Fates  rather  than 
to  attempt  a  bold  or  forward  thing. 

But  Breese  was  not  a  gallant  young  fellow,  prancing 
about  the  country  on  a  charger,  seeking  lively  adventure  ; 
nor  had  he  overmuch  knowledge  of  young  women  in  real 
life,  their  ways  of  thinking,  their  unconscious  duplicity, 
their  equally  unconscious  habit  of  destruction.  His  ac- 
quaintance with  "the  ladies,"  as  my  Lord  Tufton  was 
wont  to  call  them,  was  largely  drawn  from  history  and 
literature,  —  most  dangerous  sources  of  instruction  on 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  383 

this  head, — and  his  experience  in  Cambridge  life  had 
been  with  singularly  straightforward  and  ingenuous  }'oung 
women,  who  certainty  had  not  tried  their  wiles  on  him. 
and  might  have  failed  most  disastrously  if  they  had 
attempted  to  throw  their  pretty  lassos  over  the  head  of 
the  grave  scholar. 

Every  thing  with  Breese  was  subjected  to  analysis.  Wo 
have  seen  him  standing  in  the  Fayerweather  party,  trying 
to  probe  the  motives  of  the  gay  crowd,  analyzing  the 
effect  and  the  proper  use  of  natural  scenery  (if  I  may  use 
such  an  expression)  in  his  Mount  Desert  talk  with  Miss 
Darby,  dissecting  his  own  feelings  so  nicely  in  the  matter 
of  the  Hasty  Pudding  election ;  and  so  on,  in  many  other 
cases  that  I  might  instance.  Every  thing  was  subjected 
to  analysis ;  every  thing  was  weighed  in  the  delicate  scales 
of  his  sensibilities.  Many  a  man,  indeed,  had  been  known 
to  shun  him,  for  fear  that  Breese  might  bring  his  pitiless 
lens  to  bear  upon  him.  It  is  all  very  well  for  a  man  to  be 
aiming  at  an  absolutely  correct  life,  an  absolutely  correct 
estimate  of  every  thing  and  everybody  about  him  ;  but  a 
personified  conscience  continually  at  3*our  elbow,  remarka- 
bly clear-eyed,  remarkably  relentless,  is  hard!}"  an  agreea- 
ble companion  for  any  of  us,  much  less  so  for  a  body  of 
impetuous  youngsters  rather  fond  of  having  their  own 
heads,  and  doing  their  own  analysis  when  the  time 
comes. 

The  first  question,  then,  naturally,  with  so  sensitive  a 
man,  was  always,  "What  is  right  in  the  present  emer- 
gency? What  should  I  do  if  I  were  absolute  master  of 
mj'self,  and  not  afraid  in  the  slightest  measure  of  the 
opinions  of  men?"  That  double  question  he  tried  to 
answer  fearlessly ;  and  all  the  world  could  not  alter  the 
action  which  was  sure  to  follow,  swift,  decisive. 

What,  then,  was  the  present  eme^gencj"?  And  what 
was  his  duty  to  Miss  Darby,  as  much  as  to  Jiimself, 


384  HAMMERSMITH : 

when  he  thought  of  the  many-tongued  rumors  that  came 
to  him  now  and  then,  every  time  louder,  linking  his  name 
so  bewilderingly  with  Miss  Darin's  ? 

His  duty  to  Miss  Darby,  as  much  as  to  himself,  urged 
him  to  see  her,  to  give  her  an  opportunity  of  saying  if 
this  gossip  should  continue  or  not,  and  if  he  should  have 
the  authority  to  silence  the  busy  tongue  of  rumor  one  way 
or  the  other.  Only  a  coward,  he  felt,  would  sit  down 
quietly,  and  let  the  rumors  fly.  How  could  he  know  what 
their  effect  might  be  on  Miss  Darby  ?  How  could  he  know 
any  thing,  except  a  certain  very  precious  fact,  which  he 
hardly  dared  name  to  himself  until  he  had  seen  her  on 
whom  every  thing  depended  ? 

"We  do  not  need  to  follow  the  tiresome,  analytical  man 
further  in  this  juncture,  therefore,  or  insist  that  this  was 
an  emergency  greater  than  any  in  which  he  had  been 
called  upon  to  act :  that  goes  without  saying.  We  do  not 
need  to  accompany  him  to  all  the  Cambridge  gatherings, 
of  one  kind  and  another,  where  he  and  Miss  Darb}r  were 
brought  together  again  in  the  fall  after  their  Mount 
Desert  experience.  We  do  not  need  to  say  that  it  was 
oiuy  after  long  debate,  and  maivy  changing  answers  to  the 
double  question  above  mentioned,  that  he  decided  upon 
seeing  Miss  Darby,  and  settling  his  fate  one  way  or  the 
other.  We  can  imagine  the  quandar}T.  We  can  imagine 
the  embarrassed  attitude  which  Miss  Darby  and  he  were 
forced  to  maintain  towards  each  other.  We  can  imagine 
how  this  embarrassment  was  increased  greatly  when  Mr. 
Tom  happened  to  be  present,  as  was  frequent^  the  case  ; 
and  how  it  became  more  awkward  still,  as  the  gossip, 
growing  by  what  it  fed  on,  buzzed  more  and  more  about 
their  ears,  and  made  capital  out  of  every  casual  meeting 
and  most  commonplace  tete-a-tete  of  the  two. 

We  only  need  to  know  that  somewhere  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  fall,  when  the  mottled  leaves  were  falling  in 


TITS    HARVARD    DAYS.  oS.; 

showers  from  the  college  elms,  and  the  fingers  of  crick- 
eters were  numb  and  tingled  as  they  caught  the  hard 
ball  in  their  ^aines.  and  the  crews  on  the  river  were  tak- 
ing shorter  pulls,  ami  meeting  white-caps  ol'tener  in  the 
ba>in  below.  Breesc  lel't  his  rooms  one  quiet  evening, 
and  walked,  briskly  to  IMiss  Darby's,  slackening  his  pace 
as  he  neared  the  house. 

He  entered.  She  thanked  him  for  a  beautiful  basket  of 
flowers  that  stood  on  the  centre-table  ;  and  an  interview 
took  place  whose  sanctity  preserves  it  from  explicit  men- 
tion in  this  place  :  its  nature  we  shall  learn  when  Ham- 
mersmith is  first  allowed  to  learn  it.  Then,  too,  we  may 
be  permitted  to  know  why  it  was.  whether  from  over- 
powering joy  or  tumultuous  grief,  that  Brecse  was  seen,  a 
couple  of  hours  later,  by  the  casual  policeman,  running 
fiercely  down  to  Harvard  Square,  his  hat  on  the  back  of 
his  head, — seen,  as  well,  by  another  person,  soon  to  be 
mentioned. 

He  was  leaning  out  of  his  window  late  that  night,  look- 
ing up  at  the  tracery  of  the  elms  against  the  .>ky.  when 
a  number  of  men  passed  down  Church  Street,  singing  a 
great  chorus  on  their  way  home  from  a  society  meeting. 

••  Halloo.  Brecse  !  "  shouted  somebody  from  the  street ; 
and  Brcese  stepped  back,  drew  his  red  curtains  hastily, 
and  stretched  himself  before  his  light  coal-fire,  refuge 
of  the  student  alike  in  contemplative  pleasure  and  gloomy 
grief,  inspiration  of  his  sentiment,  khxller  of  much  of  his 
literary  work. 


386  HAMMERSMITH : 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


IN  WHICH   A   GREAT   MANY   PEOPLE   ABE   BOWLED   OYEB. 

"  The  charming  Robert  has  no  mind,  they  say  ;  » 

I  prove  he  has  :  it  changes  every  day."  —  LADY  BLZSSINGTON. 

"  Quale  caput,  sed  cerebrum  non  habct."  —  SUIDAS. 

"  Will  j'ou  not,  when  you  have  me,  throw  stocks  at  my  head,  and  cry,  '  Would 
my  eyes  had  been  beaten  out  of  my  head  with  a  cricket-ball  the  day  before  I  saw 
thee  !  '"  —  EDWARD  PHILLIPS,  Mysteries  of  Love  and  Eloquence. 


E  gallant  Ruddiman,  whose  last  active  operations 
-*-  we  have  seen  in  the  memorable  glen  excursion  at 
Mount  Desert,  many  weeks  ago,  has  been  by  no  means 
idle  since  that  day  bright  with  gay  Flamingoes  and  rapid 
S  curry  s. 

Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  that  ardent  and 
interesting  young  gentleman  in  any  other  state  than  one 
of  the  most  bustling  activit}r,  so  feverish  and  excited  did 
his  successive  all-absorbing  passions  render  him.  Only  at 
night  could  he  be  said  to  enjoy  the  quiet  which  such  rest- 
less natures  need.  And  yet  it  were  hard  to  call  that  quiet, 
which  was  broken  by  the  youth's  troubled  dreams  of  this 
or  that  fair  face,  and  this  or  that  pair  of  distracting  eyes 
(whose  color  changed  with  every  moon)  ,  and  which  often 
left  him.  in  the  early  morning  sitting,  propped  up  in  his 
pretty  bed,  smoking  gloomily,  and  ogling  a  small  photo- 
graph hung  up  in  a  little  shrine  not  far  from  his  couch,  — 
a  photograph  which  also  went  into  eclipse  with  every 
moon,  and  was  followed  shortly  by  another,  by  a  different 
artist  perhaps,  and  of  quite  different  style,  which  waxed 
and  waned,  and  disappeared  utterly,  like  the  rest. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  387 

If  I  were  to  give  a  list,  in  fact,  of  the  various  Mauds 
and  Marians,  Belles  and  Belindas,  Lucj's  and  Leonoras, 
which  came  and  went  in  that  pretty  shrine  set  up  in  the 
midst  of  flashy  sporting-pictures,  spirited  views  of  French 
life  in  colors,  favorite  actresses,  and  disconsolate  females 
by  the  score,  it  would  make  a  Leporello's  roll,  most 
bewildering  to  behold,  only  less  so  than  the  dazzling 
sirens  themselves,  if  they  could  all  be  marshalled  at  once, 
and  come  to  upbraid  the  false  but  funn}r  Ruddiman  in  his 
den.  What  an  array  they  would  make,  to  be  sure,  with 
their  blue,  black,  hazel,  and  nondescript  eyes  I  And  how 
the  bold  Ruddiman  even  would  be  forced  to  tremble  before 
their  united  beams,  to  each  of  which,  in  turn,  he  had  con- 
secrated himself,  and  vowed  eternal  devotion !  —  or  else 
death. 

But,  bless  you !  he  was  no  abandoned  rake  or  hardened 
villain,  like  many  a  man  whose  elbows  he  brushed  as  he 
jostled  his  way  through  life.  He  was  a  harmless,  funny, 
egotistic  j'oung  gentleman  of  fashion,  convinced  that  every 
young  woman  that  smiled  upon  him  was  already  far  gone 
with  the  Ruddiman  fever,  and  gratifying  his  tastes  and 
his  desire  of  amusement  in  as  innocent  ways  as  anybody 
could  well  wish.  If  the  pile  of  opera-checks  on  his  man- 
tel, or  the  rows  of  the  same  stuck  into  the  edges  of  his 
mirror,  with  the  files  of  theatre-bills  suspended  alongside 
his  fireplace,  showed  that  much  of  his  time  was  spent  in 
the  pleasure-halls  of  the  neighboring  capital,  was  it  not 
well?  "Was  it  not  meant  that  these  two  years  of  his  at 
Cambridge  should  give  room  for  him  to  inform  his  mind 
»m  the  noble  tragedy  and  the  frisky  farce,  the  tender 
vaudeville  and  the  inspiring  opera,  only  to  be  enjoyed  in 
the  theatres  of  Boston?  And  why  not  preserve,  as  he  and 
many  others  like  him  did,  the  programmes  and  the  checks, 
and  the  books  for  the  opera,  as  diplomas,  as  evidence  of 
CTaduation  in  this  Thespian  College  ? 


888  HAMMEESMITH : 

Let  us  not  be  too  severe  on  him,  but  rather  be  glad, 
that,  in  the  halls  that  sheltered  a  melancholy,  sober- 
minded  Breese,  —  and  so  many  more  that  were  making  life 
a  sombre  and  a  serious  thing,  —  there  could  be  a  place  for 
this  funny  gentleman  of  the  jodel  (which,  b}r  the  way,  he 
had  taken  to  shouting  fiercely  in  the  quadrangle,  of  nights, 
since  its  success  at  Mount  Desert,  to  the  no  small  dismay 
of  proctors  and  tutors)  ;  and  let  us  be  thankful  that  his 
interesting  existence  was  not  entirely  crushed  out,  or 
frowned  into  dismal  silence,  by  all  the  learned  gentlemen 
and  habits  about  him.  For  Ruddiman,  when  he  was 
silent,  and  other  than  his  own  merry  self,  was  the  most 
dismal  and  utterly  mournful  sight  in  the  world,  after  the 
manner  of  his  type. 

It  was  often,  then,  of  a  morning,  after  a  night  passed 
in  dreaming  of  the  particular  fair  face  enshrined  for  the 
month,  that  these  sombre  fits  caught  him.  Just  about 
when  Breese,  or  Hammersmith,  or  any  sensible  fellow, 
was  springing  from  his  bed,  and  dashing  into  his  bath  with 
a  shout,  preparing  for  his  day's  hearty  work,  this  love- 
sick young  gentleman  was  yawning  on  his  couch,  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  for  a  pipe  or  a  cigar,  and  continuing  to 
puff  away  most  dejectedly. 

It  was  often,  too,  when  thus  propped  up  among  his 
pillows,  enveloped  in  smoke,  and  casting  piteous  glances 
towards  his  place  of  worship  (perhaps,  in  order  to  be  sure 
who  was  the  saint  enshrined  for  the  time) ,  that  his  man 
Waddle,  opening  the  door  softly  to  summon  his  lord  for 
prayers,  and  to  varnish  the  little  rows  of  shoes  in  his 
closet,  spied  him  smoking  there  in  gloomy  grandeur,  and 
trembled ;  for  the  number  of  pillows  and  shoes,  books, 
ranes,  bags  of  tobacco,  and  other  missiles  that  the  un- 
happy Waddle  was  made  to  dodge,  when  his  master  was 
in  a  morose  mood,  was  something  beyond  counting 
Much  matutinal  dodging  had  given  the  squat  Waddle  a 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  389 

commendable  agility,  however,  which  he  proceeded  to  put 
in  practice  so  soon  as  the  door  was  opened  and  the  dismal 
smoker  was  discovered ;  the  labor  of  evasion  being  only 
varied  by  the  reflection  as  to  what  the  especial  style  of 
missile  was  to  be  for  the  morning  in  question. 

So  the  proctor  in  his  entry  continued  to  remonstrate,  as 
the  bang,  or  the  thud,  or  the  rattle  of  Ruddiman's  morn- 
ing salute,  was  heard  in  the  great  man's  room  in  tho 
corner;  and  Ruddiman  continued  to  be  dejected,  and  to 
take  it  out  upon  Waddle,  who  dodged  and  ducked,  and 
came  up  smiling,  and  yet  returned  morning  after  morning 
to  repeat  the  performance ;  for  Ruddiman  was  best  of 
paymasters,  withal,  and  Waddle  was  not  free  from  a  share 
of  menial  pride  in  serving  so  wealthy  a  young  buck,  —  "no 
end  of  a  swell,"  as  Waddle  confided  to  the  gentry  of  his 
station  in  life  outside  the  college-walls.  What  fragments 
of  book-learning  Waddle  had  appropriated,  moreover, 
were  pleasantly,  let  us  hope  profitably,  employed  many  a 
time,  when  his  young  lord  was  away  at  prayers  or  else- 
where, in  deciphering  the  elegant  little  notes,  in  all 
shades  of  ink,  with  every  manner  of  tremulous  flourish, 
that  lay  about  upon  the  tables  and  shelves.  Waddle's 
artistic  eye,  too,  in  no  wise  satisfied  with  the  sight  of 
the  inexpugnable  ' '  goodies  ' '  against  whom  he  stumbled 
as  the}7  went  their  rounds,  was  delighted  to  roam  over  the 
chaste  gallery  of  art  that  ornamented  his  master's  bower, 
and  especially  to  scrutinize  the  little  faces  which  appeared 
f  tticcessively  in  the  velvet  shrine  of  his  devastating  lord 
~nd  paymaster.  Many  was  the  knowing  leer  that  he  gave 
to  the  pretty  pasteboards  (which  would  have  blushed  fear- 
full}*,  if  it  had  been  possible) ,  and  man}*  the  time  that  he 
remarked  to  himself,  "My  eye,  but  she's  a  stunner! 
He's  a-going  it,  bless  me  if  he  ain't!  "  with  other  such 
complimentary  criticisms. 
Now,  we  might  suppose  that  a  young  gentleman  so 


390  HAMMERSMITH : 

tender,  so  sensitive,  so  given  to  fits  of  gloom  and  despond- 
ency, would  be  wofully  torn  and  maimed  by  the  havoc  that 
all  these  63^68,  and  smiling  faces,  and  deep  passions,  had 
wrought  in  him.  But,  bless  3rou,  no  !  There  is  no  more 
pathetic  fact  in  natural  history  than  the  ease  with  which 
healthy  youngsters  like  Ruddiman  survive  wounds  like 
his,  and,  directly  they  hear  the  old  familiar  call  of  the 
bird,  are  up  and  off  for  the  enchanted  woods  again.  And 
the  sport  is  by  no  means  confined  to  youth  of  Ruddiman' s 
age  or  experience,  indeed :  it  is  apt  to  be  carried  on  by 
elderly  sportsmen,  who  have  to  be  dragged  to  the  woods 
in  coaches,  and  strapped  on  their  horses,  and  almost  to 
have  a  bell  rung  for  them  when  the  game  comes  in  sight, 
like  the  blind  hunter  mentioned  by  Saunders. 

The  Waddle  warfare  over,  and  our  noble  Ruddiman 
arrayed  for  the  day,  his  gloom  seems  to  slip  away  as 
easily  as  —  what  shall  I  say  ?  —  as  easily  as  the  memory 
of  his  last  flirtation.  You  shall  see  him  presently  issuing 
forth  in  all  the  splendor  of  j^outh,  patronizing  might}' 
boating-men  and  cricketers,  and  now  and  then  an  unappre- 
ciated scholar  whom  he  cannot  avoid,  and  only  toward 
nightfall,  as  the  pensive  twilight  comes  on,  and  he  reflects 
how  he  shall  pass  the  evening,  beginning  to  relapse  into 
moodiness,  and  give  way  to  changing  visions  of  loveliness. 

How  one  small  frame  could  endure  all  this  carnage,  and 
one  small  heart  unduly  tested  could  carry  all  its  weighty 
cares,  forever  changing  their  object  of  anxiety,  is  hard  to 
say.  I  am  convinced  that  the  little  man  would  have  been 
too  small  for  the  emergency,  that  he  would  have  exploded 
some  fine  day,  and  perished  miscrabl}*  from  off  the  earth, 
with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  had  it  not  been  for  one  fact, 
which  connects  him,  indeed,  with  Hammersmith,  and  is 
the  main  reason  for  his  association  in  this  biography. 

For  it  is  incomprehensible,  with  all  his  crowding  affairs 
of  the  heart  during  these  two  years  at  Cambridge,  that  he 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  391 

would  ever  have  found  room  for  half  of  them  in  his  small 
frame,  if  he  had  not  made  use  of  poor  Tom,  and  poured 
off  into  his  ears  many  and  many  a  harrowing  history  and 
stifling  fact  which  he  could  no  longer  hold.  There  was 
Miss  Pincknej7,  enslaver  of  men,  at  whose  belt  Ruddiinan 
had  dangled  picturesquely  for  a  brief  while  ;  Miss  Gordon, 
Letitia  Gordon,  Letitia,  the  joj'-bringer,  whom  he  had 
rescued  from  a  ferocious  drove  of  cattle  in  Harvard 
Square,  and  from  whom  he  allowed  himself  to  receive  joy 
for  a  second  brief  season,  with  the  approbation  of  her 
mamma,  who  had  just  brought  her  pretty  daughter  to  the 
Cambridge  market,  and  whom  nobody  knew.  Then  there 
was  Miss  Axlehurst,  the  daughter  of  a  local  wheelwright, 
about  whom  he  was  simply  wild,  only  prevented  from  a 
summary  elopement  by  counsellor  Hammersmith,  who  had 
a  poor  opinion  of  runaways  of  such  a  character.  Next 
the  Flamingo  had  burst  upon  him  in  all  her  glory  ;  and,  if 
you  wish  to  know  the  sighs  and  vows  that  that  gay  chirp- 
er  called  out  from  young  Ruddiman,  you  must  go  to  Mount 
Desert,  and  ask  the  groves  and  cliffs  and  favorite  haunta 
of  the  two.  I  have  no  doubt,  I  may  sa,y  in  passing,  that 
he  is  largely  to  blame  for  the  long  line  of  his  successors 
in  the  deadly  pastime  on  that  ecstatic  island  ;  the  example 
is  so  infectious  !  Then  the  Flamingo  had  disappeared  on 
the  western  horizon,  waving  a  graceful  "aw  revoir,  my 
funny  little  man,"  to  him  as  she  sailed  away  ;  and  "Waddle 
had  gazed  fascinated  at  several  other  round  little  faces  in 
the  cherished  shrine,  before  the  present  occupant  of  the 
velvet  frame  had  appeared,  —  Miss  Dora  Malachite,  second 
sister  of  our  old  friend  Samuel. 

"  This  time  there's  no  use  talking,  Tom!  "  Ruddimau 
had  exclaimed,  when  his  passion  was  a  few  hours  old. 
u  I'm  gone  up  completely.  Can't  sleep,  can't  oat,  can't 
hink  of  any  thing  else  !  ' ' 

"Who  is  it  this  month!"  asked  Hammersmith 
blandly. 


392  HAMMERSMITH : 

"What!  Who  —  O  gammon,  Tom!  You're  making 
fun  of  me.  Don't!  "  urged  the  young  fellow.  "I  tell 
you  it's  no  laughing  matter.  You  think  I'm  joking  too, 
perhaps.  But  I  tell  you,  Tom,  a  thing  like  this  doesn't 
strike  a  man  but  once  in  his  life,  and  "  — 

"You're  sure  of  that?  You  ought  to  know,"  said 
Tom. 

"  Don't,  I  tell  you  !  "  pleaded  Ruddiman.  "  Tom,  you 
are  getting  to  have  a  most  confounded  sarcastic  and  c}7ni- 
cal  mood  of  late;  and  I — I  don't  like  it.  You  think 
I'm  a  little  beggar  that  doesn't  know  his  own  mind,  I 
suppose,  just  because  I  have  chosen  to  have  a  good  time 
when  I  could,  and  amuse  myself.  But  I  swear  to  you 
that  every  girl  I  ever  met  before  in  my  life  might  be  sunk 
in  the  middle  of  the  sea,  and  I  wouldn't  mind  !  " 

"  You're  very  ferocious,"  said  Tom.  "  Every  girl  you 
ever  met!  That's  very  comprehensive." 

"Well,  I  mean  my  —  my  —  those  —  oh,  you  know 
what  I  mean,  Tom  !  You  can  go  on  laughing,  and  mak- 
ing sport  of  me  ;  but  some  day  j^ou'll  hear  that  I've  per- 
ished, Tom, — perished  miserably.  You'll  come  round 
to  my  rooms,  perhaps,  and  find  a  few  charred  remains 
of  a  once  happy  existence,  and  you'll  wonder  who  it  is  ; 
and  at  last  you'll  say,  '  Ah,  it's  Ruddiman,  poor  Ruddi- 
man! I  didn't  suppose  he  had  taken  it  so  to  heart.' 
For  I  tell  you,  I'm  wild,  simply  wild,  my  dear  Tom  ;  and 
I  think  I  shall  certainly  die,  if  I  don't  —  well,  if  she 
doesn't  smile  on  me." 

"  That's  what  you  said  about  the  Axlchurst,"  inter- 
pose 1  Hammersmith  quietby,  as  he  was  busy  at  the  fire- 
place, brewing  a  favorite  decoction. 

"  Oh,  hang  it !  "  said  Ruddiman.  "  Let  bygones  be  \)j- 
gones,  eh,  Tom?  Shall  I  keep  reminding  you  of  the 
Boggle  affair,  my  dear  fellow,  that  everybody  has  heard 
so  much  of  ?  " 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  393 

"Yes,"  said  Hammersmith,  facing  about,  "when  I 
come  to  you,  and  take  on  about  a  new  girl  every  month, 
you  rascal ! ' ' 

"Well,  Tom,  I'm  a  bore,  I  know  it.  You  must  excuse 
me,  though.  I  should  burst  if  I  didn't  tell  somebody 
my  troubles.  And  who  can  I  go  to  but  you?  Tree- 
mantle  is  too  high  and  mighty  for  anybody  nowadays  ; 
G oldie  never  looks  at  a  woman,  though  the}*  do  say  he 
was  uncommon  sweet  on  Miss  Pinckney  for  a  day  or  two  ; 
and  Breese,  — ugh  !  he'd  give  me  a  Greek  play  to  read,  I 
suppose,  or  one  of  his  everlasting  books  of  philosophy 
that  you  speak  of." 

"Ugh!  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  that !"  said  Ham- 
mersmith. "  I  don't  think  he  would  !  " 

"  Why,  what  do  3*011  mean  by  that?  I  never  can  more 
than  half  understand  3*011  of  late,  Tom.  Oh  !  b}*  the  wa}*, 
did  you  know  Breese  was  engaged?  " 

"Now,  see  here,"  said  Tom,  walking  up  to  him  with 
a  pair  of  lemon-squeezers  in  his  hand,  "  talk  about  3*0111'- 
self  as  much  as  3*011  please.  If  it  saves  3*011  from  explo- 
sion, wh3*,  come  here  and  fire  awa3*,  whether  I'm  here  or 
not :  3*ou'i'e  quite  welcome  to  nrv  rooms.  But  don't  let 
me  hear  another  word  of  a  man  like  Breese,  or  ai\ybod3* 
else.  He  is  quite  able  to  look  after  himself.  And  I'm 
afraid,  Ruddiman,  3*ou're  a  most  confounded  gossip  and 
gadabout." 

"  Eveiybod3*  knows  it,"  put  in  Ruddiman.  "  Eveiy- 
Ixxlv's  talking  about  it.  I  thought  3*011  might  like  to  hear 
.t,  that's  all.  I  was  down  at  the  florist's  3*esterda3*,  and  saw 
a  most  tremendous  basket  of  flowers,  nothing  but  roses  and 
heliotrope.  '  Going  to  Miss  DarbN*,'  the  bo}*  said  when  I 
asked  him ;  and  there  was  Breesc's  card  stuck  in  the  top 
of  it :  '  For  Miss  Darl^-,  compliments  John  Breese.'  ' 

"  Well,"  said  Hammersmith,  "  what  of  that?  Can't  a 
man  send  a  3*011  ng  Iad3*  a  basket  of  flowers  without  being 
/engaged  to  her?  Haven't  3*011  ever  done  it  3*ourself  ?  " 


394  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  Yes  ;  but  that's  different.     Breese  "  — 

"Yes,  I  know  it's  different,  devilish  different!"  an 
Bwered  Hammersmith  harshly.  "  Ruddiman,  I  advise 
you  to  let  other  men  alone  a  little  more,  or  3-011 '11  get  your- 
self into  trouble.  What  right  have  you  to  go  about  pry- 
ing into  Brecse's  affairs,  asking  whose  basket  of  flowers 
that  was,  and  so  on?  " 

"I  don't  go  prying  about,"  said  Ruddiman.  "  I 
couldn't  help  seeing  the  flowers.  I  had  a  perfect  right 
to  ask  whose  the}*  were :  if  the  fellow  didn't  want  to  tell 
me,  ife  was  his  business,  not  mine.  I  didn't  go  prying 
about  last  evening,  either,  when  Breese  passed  me  on  a 
dead-run  on  Brattle  Street,  with  his  hat  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  and  jumping  posts  as  he  ran.  A  man  doesn't 
run  tearing  through  the  streets  at  night,  jumping  horse- 
posts,  for  nothing,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"  Jumping  posts  !  Breese  !  Did  yon  see  him  jumping 
posts?" 

"  Well,  I  saw  him  jump  one,  —  a  low  one  !  "  returned 
Ruddiman. 

"  Yes,  one  :  perhaps  he  didn't  jump  that !  And  that's 
the  way  your  stories  grow,"  said  Tom.  "  I've  no  doubt 
that  story  will  be  coming  back  to  me  from  New  York  soon  ; 
and  the  next  edition  of  '  College  Words  and  Customs ' 
will  mention  as  a  peculiar  and  edifying  fact  the  habit  that 
engaged  men  at  Harvard  have  of  running  out,  and  jumping 
posts  and  fences  in  the  dark  by  way  of  celebrating  their 
engagements.  Did  you  ever  jump  a  post,  Rud?  " 

"  I  don't  — I  don't  think  I  ever  did." 

"  No,  I  thought  not!  Ergo  you  are  not  engaged: 
ergo  you  never  will  be." 

"Come,  Tom;  don't  make  such  a  row  about  it!  I 
meant  no  offence  ;  and  I  assure  you  it  looked  doused  queer 
to  see  Breese  pegging  ahead  in  that  way,  after  ten  — yes, 
nearly  eleven  o'clock,  coming  from  the  Darbys'  direction. 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  395 

Wouldn't  have  thought  any  thing  of  it,  if  I  hadn't  seen 
tils  basket  of  tea-roses  and  heliotrope,  and  if  it  wasn't  the 
oommou  report." 

"  Starting  from  we  know  whom,"  said  Hammersmith. 
"  Well,  never  mind ;  drink  that,  and  forget  you  said  any 
thing  at  all. ' '  And  Ruddiinan  accepted  the  grateful  punch, 
and  probabty  had  a  fervent  secret  toast  of  his  own  as  he 
drained  it ;  for  he  suddenty  relapsed  into  the  most  pro- 
nounced Ruddiinan  gloom,  and  hugged  the  arm  of  the  sofa 
in  the  most  dejected  way  imaginable. 

Tom,  meanwhile,  had  taken  down  a  pipe,  and  was  fill- 
ing the  room  with  fragrant  fumes  of  Latakia,  as  he  sat 
before  the  fire,  thinking  of  what  Ruddiman  had  told  him  ; 
for,  behind  the  fellow's  extravagance  and  gossip,  there 
was  unmistakably  a  truthful  fact  or  two  that  did  not  tend 
to  his  tranquillity  of  mind. 

When,  therefore,  after  much  hugging  of  the  sofa-arm, 
and  many  piteous  looks  for  sympathy  from  the  impassive 
Tom,  Ruddiman  broke  out  again  about  his  own  troubled 
affairs,  "  Tom,  old  fellow,  I  tell  you  I'm  in  a  bad  way, 
I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  Hammersmith,  recalled  with  a 
jar  to  the  trivial  world  of  Ruddiman,  blurted  out,  — 

"  Oh,  hang  it !     Go  home,  and  go  to  bed." 

But  Ruddiman  put  on  so  dolorous  a  face,  and  looked  so 
unutterably  miserable,  as  he  lay  coiled  up  on  the  sofa, 
that  Hammersmith,  bursting  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  com- 
ing over  to  him,  felt  of  his  pulse,  and  went  through  many 
other  mockeries  of  medical  anxiety,  all  which  the  young 
swain  received  with  the  gravest  possible  air,  convinced 
that  he  was  really  in  a  bad  way,  —  in  a  bad  way  with  the 
r,ame  pleasant  tortures  that  had  shaken  him  many  times 
before,  and  shake  us  all  once  or  twice  in  our  lives,  but 
which  we  manage  to  survive  with  remarkable  success,  aa 
,s  well,  and  as  Heaven  has  wisely  ordained. 

The  unhappy  patient,  cheered  by  this  apparently  genu- 


396  HAMMEKSMITH : 

ine  sympathy,  imparted  many  interesting  facts  concern 
ing  his  attack,  and  amused  Hammersmith  not  a  little. 
All  his  talk  was  of  Miss  Malachite's  incomprehensible 
behavior.  He  told  how  he  had  taken  her  out  to  dinner 
at  the  Minturns'  a  few  days  since,  and  she  had  deliber- 
ate ly  set  herself  to  entertaining  Freemantle,  who  was  on 
her  other  side,  so  that  he,  Rud/cliraan,  could  hardly  have 
a  word  with  her  through  the  whole  dinner ;  what  misery 
he  had  endured  at  the  Glee  Club  concert,  three  evenings 
ago,  when  she  had  come  out  with  a  party  from  town, 
with  Withcrspoon,  McGregor,  and  a  lot  of  graduates,  in 
attendance,  and  he  had  only  been  able  to  stand  staring 
at  her  from  a  side-aisle  as  she  talked  with  the  men  of 
her  partjr,  out  of  his  reach  ;  how  he  had  rushed  wildly  to 
the  door  to  have  at  least  a  bow  from  her  as  she  went  out, 
but  she  had  passed  him  on  the  arm  of  Witherspoon,  with- 
out even  noticing  him ;  and,  later,  he  had  seen  that  famous 
boating-man  handing  her  into  her  carriage,  looking  entire- 
ly bewitching  in  her  little  pink  hood,  "and  I  standing 
in  a  crowd  of  fellows,  read}7  to  choke  with  disgust,"  he 
had  added.  "I  could  have  touched  her  as  she  passed, 
Tom.  But  I  don't  wonder  she  didn't  look  at  me  :  I'm  a 
poor  devil,  who  hasn't  a  thing  to  recommend  him  but  his 
money,  more's  the  pity !  And  I'm  going  to  die,  and  put 
an  end  to  it  all.  If  I  was  only  clever,  or  a  boating-man 
like  you,  or  could  do  any  thing  but  smoke  and  dance,  and 
play  billiards,  I  might  have  a  better  show.  How  does  a 
man  get  to  be  clever,  Tom?  It  must  be  jolly  to  be  clever ; 
and  be  able  to  say  things." 

"  I  don't  know,  Hud,  I'm  sure  ;  never  had  any  expe- 
rience :  but  I  can  teU  you  one  thing,  it  isn't  b}-  dropping 
into  the  dumps,  and  swearing  you're  going  to  die  whether 
or  no.  All  the  women  in  the  world  aren't  worth  that ; 
at  least,  no  such  girl  as  you  and  I  are  thinking  of,  thaf 
can  play  a  fellow  on  a  hook  and  line  just  to  see  him 


HIS    HARVARD    DAYS.  •.!','  I 

squirm.  Let  me  give  you  another  piece  of  advice.''  he 
said,  us  liuddimun  al  last  was  leaving.  ••  I  don't  a  -k 
any  tiling  for  it.  you  kno\v  :  you  eau  take  it  or  not.  as 
you  please.  But  why  don't  you  go  into  crk-ket.  or  a 
double-scull,  or  walking,  or  any  thing  except  ihN  in:'  inal 
hanging  about  parties,  and  dawdling  after  girl.-?  It  would 
set  you  up  wonderfully,  my  dear  fellow  :  and  you  would 
Jearii  to  snap  your  lingers  at  the  whole  female  sex." 

Ivuddiman  r-howed  a  feeble  glow  as  Hammersmith  went 
on  in  his  enthusiasm;  l>ut  the  idea  of  ever  being  able  to 
snap  his  lingers  so  comprehensively  was  too  much  fur  him, 
and  he  shook  his  head  dolefully.  He  felt  cheered  by 
Hammersmith's  talk,  however;  and  although  protesting 
that  he  was  good  for  nothing.  ••  only  a  deii>ed  little  fool 
of  a  gold-bug."  as  he  expressed  it.  he  promised  to  think 
of  it.  and  try  to  do  something  to  ward  otf  his  frequent 
blues. 

'•  Old  Waddle  will  be  as  glad  as  anybody,  if  I  succeed." 
he  said  rather  ruefully,  as  he  was  opening  the  door  to  go. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  answered  Tom.  ••  if  the  old  bird 
is  bombarded  so  frightfully  every  morning  as  y, >\\  >ay. 
I  say.  come  down  to  the  Bostons'  ground  to-morrow,  and 
see  our  match  with  the  Eleven.  You  might  as  well  pk-k 
up  a  little  knowledge  of  the  game.  You  would  make  a 
tiptop  fallow  for  point  or  slip,  if  you  could  learn  not  to 
shut  your  eyes  when  a  hot  ball  comes.  I'll  lend  you 
;  The  Cricket  Field.'  if  you  wkh  :  best  book  en  the  game 
that's  out.  Say  you'll  come." 

••  I'll  try.  We  have  a  few  games  of  the  billiard  tourna- 
n.ent  that  we  were  intending  to  play  out  to-morrow  after- 
noon :  but  I  think  they  can  be  postponed.  Good-niirht, 
jld  fellow.  Will  you  excuse  my  boring  YOU.  and  taking 
on  so?  " 

••  Don't  speak  of  it."  answered  Tom.  ••  Good-night." 
And  Ruddiman  marched  off,  feeling  already  as  if  he  were 


898  HAMMERSMITH : 

a  famous  cricketer,  who  had  carried  his  bat  out  in  num, 
hers  of  closely-contested  matches.  Tom  sat  a  while  with 
his  waning  fire ;  and  at  last,  as  he  arose,  and  drew  the 
curtains,  said  to  himself,  "Well,  old  Hammersmith,  this 
will  never  do.  You  must  find  out  about  this  matter  pretty 
soon,  and  take  a  decisive  step  one  way  or  the  other. 
Which  way  will  it  be,  I  wonder?  " 

The  close-clipped  turf  of  the  Boston  Cricket  Club's 
grounds  in  East  Cambridge,  kept  rolled  between  wickets 
as  smooth  as  a  parlor-floor ;  the  simple  club-house  of  the 
day,  surmounted  by  the  club-flags,  and  swarming  with 
cricketers,  tough,  brown-cheeked  fellows,  forever  trying 
on  pads  and  gloves  and  wonderful  cricket-shoes,  and 
handling  their  favorite  bats  with  a  fondness  which  only  a 
cricketer  can  appreciate  ;  the  groups  of  partisans  ranged 
about  the  field ;  the  quiet  and  methodical  progress  of  the 
game,  broken  only  by  the  cries  of  the  umpire,  "Play," 
or  "  Over,"  or  "  Stumped,"  or  "  Not  out,"  as  the  case 
ma}7  be ;  and  the  applause  of  the  spectators  as  a  hit  is 
made,  and  the  ball  goes  frying  over  the  field,  while  rapid 
movement  takes  the  place  of  watchful  repose  on  the  part 
of  the  players,  — how  can  justice  be  done  in  these  already 
too  numerous  pages  to  the  beauty  of  such  a  scene,  such  a 
well-ordered  cricket-ground  on  the  day  of  a  great  match  ? 

Old  cricketers  of  the  "  Aristouicans,"  the  "  Harvards," 
the  "  Nonantums,"  who  may  now  be  standing  up  to  quite 
different  bowling,  and  making  quite  different  hits  from 
those  of  your  spryer  days,  grant  an  ex-member  this  indul- 
gence, and  pardon  him  if  he  lingers  a  while  over  the 
attractive  features  of  the  game  which  we  pl^-ecl  together 
in  the  days  before  the  flood,  when  base-ball  was  round- 
ers, still  in  its  round  jackets,  and  the  senior's  dignitj', 
even,  did  not  prevent  his  joining  in  the  most  gracefu," 
of  field-games.  And  you  who  never  fingered  a  spring} 


HIS   HAEVAED  DAYS.  399 

cricket-bat,  or  stood  up  before  the  bowling  of  the  New- 
hulls  ?  —  well,  I'm  sorry  for  you ;  and  I  hope  you  have 
some  other  happy  sport  of  your  youth  to  play  over  again 
iu  fancj*,  recalling  the  hearty  zest  of  those  earlier  times, 
when  you  were  slighter  in  build  than  now,  but  with,  oh, 
such  an  inordinate  capacity  for  enjoyment ! 

It  was  after  a  very  close  game  on  these  grounds  of  the 
Bostons,  in  which  the  Harvards  were  beaten  by  a  half- 
dozen  runs,  and  Mr.  Tom  had  nearly  succeeded  in  "  carry- 
ing out  his  bat ;  "  after  the  ride  home  in  the  coach,  when 
they  sang  their  way  up  to  the  Square,  causing  many  a 
curtain  to  be  drawn,  and  man}7  a  face  to  appear  at  the 
windows,  as  the  familiar  college-choruses  were  heard ; 
and  after  a  rather  uproarious  supper  at  Kent's,  bespoken 
by  Freemantle  and  Ruddiman,  who  had  ridden  ahead  on 
finding  that  the  Eleven  were  to  be  too  late  for  their  own 
dinners,  — it  was  after  all  this  meny  afternoon  and  even- 
ing of  sport  and  convivialit}7,  that  Hammersmith,  flushed 
with  his  success  and  the  ' '  warm  rain  of  punch ' '  at 
'Kent's,  came,  still  in  his  cricket-uniform  and  in  a  mood 
to  defy  anybody  and  everybody,  to  look  in  upon  Breese. 
To  look  in  upon  Breese,  and  see  if  any  thing  could  be 
made  out  of  that  severe  and  scholarly  old  party:  this 
was  about  the  way  that  the  thought  ran  in  the  mind  of 
Mr.  Tom  at  this  rather  nebulous  stage  of  the  evening. 
It  might  have  been  much  better  for  all  concerned,  had  he 
waited  until  some  clearer  moment,  when  he  might  have 
shaped  both  his  thoughts  and  his  speech  in  somewhat 
more  distinct  form. 

"  Halloo,  old  boy !  "  he  shouted,  bursting  in  upon  Breese, 
and  slapping  him  familiarly  on  the  back. 

"How are  you,  Hammersmith? "  answered  Breese,  gath- 
ering hastily  some  small  manuscript  on  which  he  was  busy. 

"  Come  to  get  your  congratulations  !  I'm  cock  of  the 
walk  to-day,  old  boy  :  give  us  your  hand  !  " 


400  HAMMERSMITH  : 

"  So  I  hear,"  answered  Breese.  "I'm  sure  I'm  very 
glad.  I  should  have  gone  down  myself  to  see  your 
famous  batting,  but  I  had  a  cub  to  attend  to.  So  you 
made  the  score  of  the  day,  eh?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  by  Jove !  "  said  Tom,  as  his  eyes  flashed ; 
"  batted  'em  all  over  the  field.  Nobody  could  bowl  me 
down  till  they  put  on  an  infernal  old  corkscrew  bowler ; 
and  he  took  me  first  pop.  Talking  of  pop,  have  you  got 
any  thing  on  tap,  Breese?  " 

"I  believe  my  ale  is  not  out,"  said  Breese;  and  he 
fetched  a  couple  of  glasses  and  a  plate  of  biscuit ;  and  the 
two  fell  to  talking  of  the  day's  sport  and  the  play  of 
the  different  members  of  the  Eleven. 

Tom  relapsed  into  rather  gloomy  quiet  after  a  bit, 
gazing  into  the  fire,  and  chewing  at  a  cigar  that  had 
gone  out.  But  when  Breese  proposed  the  health  of  the 
Eleven,  and  filled  up  Tom's  glass,  it  seemed  to  give  him 
an  idea  ;  and  he  shouted  out,  — 

"  Oh,  hang  the  Eleven!  I  know  a  toast  that's  worth 
two  of  that,  old  cove.  Here's  to  Her!  "  he  said,  with  & 
wink  at  Breese  which  made  him  start,  and  change  color 
like  a  girl. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  !  What  do  you  mean, 
sir?  "  he  asked  abruptly,  putting  down  his  glass. 

"Oh,  come  now!  we  understand  each  other.  Here's 
to  Her  with  a  big  H  !  Here's  to  you  !  Here's"  — 

"Hammersmith,  stop  where  3Tou  are!  I  suppose  we 
do  understand  each  other,  as  you  say ;  and  I  suppose 
there  are  other  people  that  understand  each  other.  But 
I  don't  think  that  this  is  the  way  to  refer  to  young  ladies 
of  our  acquaintance,  even  if  they  were  most  casual  ac- 
quaintances ;  and  I  don't  think  you  are  in  the  condition 
to  talk  of  this  matter  as  calmly  as  it  deserves.  It  is  par- 
ticularly disagreeable  to  me  at  this  time,  and  I  forbid  your 
saj  ing  another  syllable  about  it !  " 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  401 

"  Who  says  I'm  not  in  a  condition  to  speak  calmly  of 
this  matter?  what  matter?  Who  mentioned  any  names? " 
shouted  Hammersmith,  sober  in  an  instant.  "  What  au- 
thority have  you  to  forbid  my  talking  of  what  I  please  ?  ' ' 

"  No  matter  what  authority,"  said  Breese  calmly,  ris- 
ing, and  folding  his  arms.  "  I  forbid  you :  that's  all." 

"What  if  I  prefer  not  to  mind  j'our  command !  "  ex 
claimed  Hammersmith,  flinging  his  cigar  into  the  fire, 
rising,  and  facing  Breese  under  the  gaslight,  his  eyes 
snapping  with  excitement,  and  the  two  making  a  startling 
picture  of  impetuous  rage  and  calm  indignation.  Heav- 
ens, what  a  tussle  it  would  be,  if  these  two  friends  —  the 
great  boating-man,  with  his  nerves  tingling  like  electric 
cords  under  the  effects  of  his  fury ;  and  the  athletic  schol- 
ar, every  muscle  hardened  like  a  whip-cord  by  three  years, 
yes,  a  young  lifetime,  of  hardy  exercise — were  to  lay 
hands  on  each  other,  here  in  the  dead  of  night,  in 
Breese 's  isolated  room !  But  one  at  least  is  too  cool  and 
sensible  for  that.  Submitting  to  Hammersmith's  glaring 
gaze  for  a  moment,  Breese  turned  on  his  heel,  threw  the 
entry-door  wide  open,  and,  stepping  back,  answered  with 
cutting  politeness,  — 

"In  that  case  I  can  only  assert  the  authority  that 
e\cry  man  has  over  his  own  rooms  ;  and  I  know  that  you 
are  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  deny  that." 

Hammersmith's  face  darkened :  he  looked  as  if  he 
would  spring  on  him,  as  he  would  have  done  if  Breese 
had  said  another  word.  Breese  was  probably  conscious 
of  this  certainty,  as  he  said  not  another  word,  but  stood 
leaning  against  the  table,  his  hands  at  his  coat-collar, 
looking  placidly  at  his  book-shelves.  Hammersmith  took 
out  a  fresh  cigar,  lighted  it  slowly  with  a  taper  at  the  fire- 
place, puffed  once  or  twice,  took  up  his  hat,  and,  without  a 
word,  went  out  at  the  door,  and  so  home.  Breese  stood 
%  moment,  listening  to  him  as  he  whistled  an  operatic  air 
on  his  way  down  the  entry,  and  then  closed  the  door. 


402  HAMMERSMITH : 

You  may  be  sure  that  there  was  some  very  elaborate 
analysis  in  that  room  before  Breese  closed  his  eyes  in 
sleep,  and  a  very  rapid  verdict  pronounced  in  the  room  of 
Hammersmith,  as  Mr.  Tom  made  up  his  mind,  in  a  hazy 
sort  of  wa^y,  that  it  was  all  true,  —  Ruddiman  had  only 
announced  correctly,  and  Breese  was  not  presumptuous  iu 
claiming  authority  to  speak  for  Miss  Darby,  and  forbid  her 
name  to  be  lightly  referred  to. 

Both  3*oung  men  were,  of  course,  quite  settled  in  their 
own  minds  that  they  were  right,  each  for  himself,  in  the 
evening's  actions,  and  had  only  behaved  as  they  should 
have  behaved  under  the  circumstances.  But  one  of  them 
sat  up  long,  anatyzing  his  own  thoughts,  and  endeavoring 
to  imagine  some  way  by  which  the  bad  effect  of  their  mu- 
tual words  might  be  remedied.  The  other  feh1  off  quickly 
into  deep  sleep,  trying  to  believe  that  there  was  not  a 
woman  in  the  world  worth  thinking  about,  and  yet  prov- 
ing how  difficult  it  was,  by  hating  and  envying  Breese 
most  emphatically  at  the  same  time. 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  403 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  WORLDLING'S  ADVICE,  WITH  A  SPEECH  FROM  MR.  TOM. 

"  It  is  an  olde  proverbe,  that,  if  one  dwell  the  next  doore  to  a  creple,  he  will 
learn  to  hault  :  if  one  bee  conversant  with  an  hipocrit,  he  wil  soone  endevour  to 
dissemble."  —  JOHN  LYI/T,  Euphues. 


,  then,  was  the  result  of  Breese's  plunging  into 
-J-  the  social  life  against  which  he  had  set  himself  so 
steadfastly  at  the  beginning  of  his  college-course.  This 
was  the  result  of  that  h'ght  compact  between  Tom  and 
Miss  Darby  before  that  fatal  night  at  the  Fayerweathers', 
—  a  compact  entered  upon  in  a  spirit  of  fun  and  curiosity 
and  friendliness  combined.  This  was  the  outcome  of  all 
Hammersmith's  friendship  with  Breese,  which  had  been 
much  more  close  than  these  pages  have  been  able  to  indi- 
cate, and  of  Hammersmith's  long  intimacy  with  Miss 
Darby. 

As  the  gossipy  stories  which  had  driven  Breese  on  to 
propose  to  Miss  Darb}T,  giving  her  an  opportunity  to 
accept  or  reject  him,  had  been  the  first  thing  to  reveal 
to  Breese  the  depth  and  strength  of  the  feeling  that  he 
had  for  her  ;  so  this  midnight  quarrel,  and  the  rather  im- 
perious way  in  which  Breese  had  carried  himself,  and  pre- 
sv  uied  to  speak  for  Miss  Darby,  first  opened  Tom's  eyes 
to  facts  which  had  been  but  dimly  seen  before.  Mr.  Tom 
now  appreciated,  though  with  different  intensity  from 
Breese  perhaps,  that  this  girl,  with  whom  he  had  danced 
,  and  sung  and  ridden,  skated  and  walked  and  talked,  with 
never  a  thought  of  what  was  to  come  of  it  ah1,  had  made 


404  HAMMERSMITH: 

for  herself  such  a  place  in  his  heart,  that  he  felt  singu- 
larly alone  and  cheerless  when  he  awoke  to  the  sudden 
consciousness  that  she  had  been  taken  away. 

Why,  then,  did  he  not  go  boldly  in,  and  attempt  to  wrest 
her  from  the  conqueror  Breese  ?  Why  did  he  remain  con- 
tented with  the  somewhat  slight  evidence  that  he  had  of 
their  engagement,  and  not  rather  plunge  in,  and  ascertain 
the.  truth  for  himself,  like  a  true  Hammersmith  ?  Like  a 
true  Hammersmith,  do  you  say?  Out  upon  it!  You  are 
ill  acquainted  with  the  Hammersmith  character,  if  you 
hold  this  an  emergency  calling  for  recklessness  and  im- 
petuosity, headstrong  daring,  and  all  the  other  sturdy 
qualities  of  the  tribe.  What,  try  to  wrest  from  a  man  a 
prize  fairly  obtained !  Try  to  persuade  a  young  woman 
to  break  her  word,  change  her  mind,  and  transfer  her  affec- 
tions to  a  Hammersmith  !  It  is  ridiculous  !  A  fair  field 
and  no  favor,  a  race  just  begun,  an  up-hill  game,  any 
equal  or  vastly  unequal  conditions  of  rivalry,  and  our 
young  Hammersmith  would  be  found  fighting  and  con- 
tending with  a  spirit  worthy  of  his  name  ;  and  let  the 
best  man  win,  as  he  would  say.  But  the  race  already 
run,  the  game  already  played,  and  the  prize  taken  away 
from  before  his  very  eyes,  before  he  fully  realized  that 
there  was  a  rivalry  or  a  contest,  even  before  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  he  was  to  enter  the  lists  at  all,  —  why,  that 
was  a  very  different  matter.  If  stubborn  tooth-and-nail 
perseverance  and  emulation  are  marks  of  the  old  Ham- 
mersmith stock,  none  the  less  so  are  a  cheerful  acquies- 
cence and  a  calm  looking  in  the  eyes  of  Fate,  when  once 
the  struggle  is  over,  and  the  day  has  gone  against  them. 
I  am  sure  that  Hammersmith  (Mr.  Tom)  was  in  no  whit 
behind  his  most  punctilious  ancestors  in  matters  of  cour- 
age and  honor  alike.  And  I  am  happy  to  think  that  lie 
had  too  much  regard  for  himself,  if  for  nobody  else,  tc 
descend  to  intrigue,  or  underhanded  means,  to  deprive 


HIS    HARVARD    DA  VS.  405 

Brecse  of  the  fruits  of  his  victory  when  once  they  were 
his. 

It  was  very  odd  for  Hammersmith  to  reflect,  as  he  did 
not  a  few  times  after  his  quarrel  with  Breese,  that  he  had 
been  preparing  a  text  for  himself  when  he  coined  that 
advice  for  Ruddiman  about  snapping  his  fingers  at  the 
whole  race  of  young  women.  It  was  very  odd  for  many 
who  chose  to  watch  his  course,  to  see  the  gradual  cnange 
from  the  enthusiastic,  impetuous  Hammersmith  of  several 
months  ago,  to  the  young  man  of  increasing  cynicism  and 
indifferentism,  who  was  taking  his  place. 

It  might  not  be  uninteresting,  if  space  sufficed,  and  if 
the  scrutiny  were  an  agreeable  one,  to  follow  the  3'oung 
fellow  on  this  new  path  of  his.  It  might  not  be  uninter- 
esting to  follow  him  as  he  was  trying  to  accustom  him- 
self to  the  idea  that  he,  Hammersmith,  with  such  an 
opinion  of  himself  as  the  Hammersmiths  were  apt  to  have 
of  themselves,  had  been  supplanted  by  Breese  ;  a  man,  — 
well,  we  will  not  divulge  Hammersmith's  private  opinion 
of  him  in  this  time  of  their  troubled  relations  ;  a  man,  at 
any  rate,  whom  he  had  not  looked  upon,  until  now,  as 
likely  by  any  possibilit}*  to  deserve  well  in  the  eyes  of 
young  women,  much  less  to  capture  the  most  conspicuous 
of  them  all,  in  Mr.  Tom's  mind,  from  out  the  midst  of  the 
Cambridge  world. 

We  might  follow  Hammersmith  as  well  in  the  lordly 
disdain  which  he  suddenly  acquired  for  the  quiet  little 
Cambridge  world  in  question,  that  had  been  so  kind  to 
him.  since  he  had  chosen  to  enter  its  parlors.  We  might 
show  how  the  spirit  of  worldlincss  and  a  comfortable 
cynicism  got  possession  of  him,  about  this  time,  in  the  per- 
son of  his  uncle  the  "Duke,"  under  whose  tutelage  he 
began  more  and  more  to  Sequent  the  grand  houses  and 
larger  area  of  the  metropolis  Boston  ;  how  he  was  trained 
b}  that  master's  hand  in  many  of  the  mnturcr  mysteries 


406  HAMMERSMITH: 

of  life ;  what  crushing  mobs  of  parties  he  frequented ; 
what  delightful  little  theatre-parties,  with  an  after-supper 
and  a  dance  perhaps  ;  what  solemn  heavy  dinners  ;  what 
dazzling  Germans  at  Papanti's,  or  assembh'es  at  Horticul- 
tural Hall,  where  his  uncle  was  a  patronizing  figure- 
head of  the  most  elaborate  type ;  what  a  round  of  calls 
and  charming  evening  visits  he  made  now  and  then,  with 
his  beloved  Mentor ;  and  how,  gradually,  he  came  to 
regard  the  lesser  university  town  and  its  smaller  routs,  its 
less  cosmopolitan  belles,  in  a  complacent,  de  liaut  en  bas 
manner  most  interesting  to  behold  in  a  youngster  of  his 
remarkable  experience.  His  mirror  was  quite  surrounded 
now  with  cards  of  invitation,  and  summonses  to  this  or  that 
grand  entertainment,  where  the  pleasure  of  his  company 
was  requested.  His  uncle's  coupe,  a  most  delightful  little 
equipage,  wherein  the  old  gentleman  was  wont  to  take 
his  ease  while  rattling  from  one  gay  meeting  to  another, 
often  whirled  out  to  Cambridge  late  at  night,  with  our 
3Toung  swell  in  a  semi-doze  on  its  comfortable  cushions, 
smiling  benignly  over  the  thought  of  this  or  that  ravishing 
beauty  whom  the  evening's  festivities  had  consigned  to 
his  attentions,  and  picking  up  his  hat  and  gloves  with  a 
start,  as  he  found  himself  in  Harvard  Square,  before  his 
rooms,  the  driver  opening  the  door,  and  calling  to  his 
horses. 

It  was  so  different  an  experience,  so  vastly  pleasanter  a 
mode  of  life,  from  any  he  had  tried  before !  What  a  start 
it  gave  him,  though,  one  evening,  — almost  the  first  time 
that  his  uncle  had  sent  him  bowling  out  thus  in  his  coupe, 
—  as  he  suclijonry  remembered  that  it  was  only  two  years 
ago  (yet  how  crowded  they  were  with  life  !)  that  he  had 
been  rolling  over  the  same  roads  in  my  Lord  Tufton's  drag, 
that  ingenious  diplomatc  at  his  side,  bound  for  those  earlier 
diversions  in  town,  of  which  we  have  had  a  glimpse ! 
Bah !  what  a  young  fool  he  had  been !  and  what  a 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  407 

deal  of  the  world  he  flattered  himself  he  had  seen  since 
then !  From  the  very  reflection,  therefore,  that  caused 
him  this  twinge  of  memory,  he  drew  consolation  for  him- 
self, and  fresh  food  for  the  sneering  habit  that  was  taking 
possession  of  him  about  this  time.  "By  Jove!"  he 
would  have  been  likely  to  say,  in  a  rather  languid  way  for 
a  Hammersmith,  "I  should  like  to  see  him  try  his  wiles 
on  me  now,  the  scoundrel !  I've  learned  a  thing  or  two 
since  those  greenhorn  days ;  and  I  flatter  myself  that  I 
could  give  him  points  in  a  few  things  where  he  thought 
himself  most  uncommonly  clever.  Bah !  what  a  silly 
episode  that  was,  though !  it  makes  me  sick  of  life  to 
think  of  it !  " 

An  impressive  cynicism  in  a  healthy  youngster  who 
has  been  but  a  j*ear  or  two  from  the  maternal  roof  is 
always  a  charming  sight.  Your  faded  gentlemen  in  club- 
wiudows,  sucking  the  ends  of  their  canes,  and  ogling  the 
too  anxious,  bustling  world  without ;  j'our  veterans  from 
many  a  well-fought  social  field,  coddling  themselves  in 
domestic  hospitals  ;  those  who  have  made  a  miss  of  it  in 
life ;  the  hopelessly  repressed ;  the  suddenly  blighted ; 
lights  that  have  forgotten  to  shine  ;  wits  and  beauties  that 
have  lost  their  homage,  —  one  may  pardon  the  spirit  in 
them  that  would  say,  "  Go  to !  I've  tried  you  all,  and  you 
are  nothing  but  a  delusion  and  a  snare,  all  you  bright 
allurements  of  life  !  I'll  none  of  you  !  "  But  a  youth  of 
one  and  twenty,  hearty,  healthy,  attractive,  intelligent  (as 
our  Hammersmith  assuredly  was) ,  —  such  a  spirit  in  him 
would  have  been  a  pitiable  spectacle,  if  we  were  not  con- 
vinced that  it  would  be  short  lived.  It  would  be  too  mis- 
erable a  theme  to  dwell  upon,  if  we  did  not  believe  that 
sooner  or  later  he  would  rouse  himself,  and  confess  that 
this  was  the  very  silliest  period  of  his  life,  and  this 
cynic's  mask  the  most  unbecoming  that  a  Hammersmith 
youth  can  put  on. 


408  HAMMERSMITH : 

Wh}r,  however,  such  a  listless,  indifferent  manner  as 
Hammersmith  took  pains  to  assume  for  some  weeks  aftei 
his  Breese  quarrel,  should  find  favor  with  the  young  of 
both  sexes,  is  hard,  very  hard  to  say.  I  am  not  preach- 
ing sermons,  but  attempting  a  biography,  as  I  have  sever- 
al times  declared ;  but  I  set  down  here  the  plain  fact, 
which  an}-body  can  have  noticed,  that  your  young  fellow 
who  saunters  through  life  as  Mr.  Tom  was  now  doing, 
walking  into  your  party  as  if  he  were  a  bit  doubtful 
whether  it  was  all  worth  while,  taking  every  thing  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  repressing  as  far  as  possible  the 
enthusiasm  of  which  everj'body  can  see  that  he  is  capa- 
ble, —  that  such  a  young  fellow  meets  with  an  unbounded 
popularit}7  and  reputation  for  wisdom,  which  make  a  live- 
lier, a  less  blase  man  open  his  eyes  in  wonder.  Certain 
it  is,  at  any  rate,  that  this  new  phase  of  Hammersmith's 
character  provoked  much  comment,  and  brought  him  no 
small  share  of  fame,  linked,  as  it  was,  with  his  known 
ability,  and  his  equally  known  excursions  into  the  gay 
world  of  Boston  with  his  uncle.  His  reputation  as  a 
man  of  the  world,  a  dangerous  man,  a  perfect  enslaver  of 
women,  if  he  chose  to  exert  himself,  became  prodigious 
among  undergraduates ;  and  the  records  of  his  prowess 
were  even  more  ample,  more  visionary,  and  more  flatter- 
ing, than  those  earlier  legends  during  the  Tufton  regime. 

You  may  be  pretty  sure,  too,  that  the  matter  was  quite 
fully  discussed  in  the  outer  Cambridge  world,  and  that 
exclusively  feminine  gatherings  seized  upon  it  as  a  deli- 
cious bit  of  contemporary  history.  And  those  little  sew- 
ing-bees and  reading-clubs,  four-hand  musical  seances, 
and  water-color  mornings,  were  made  lively  and  interest- 
ing beyond  technical  limits  by  the  pros  and  cons  of  the 
great  question,  whether  Hammersmith  was  more  delight- 
ful and  thoroughly  charming  now  or  then ;  now  as  a 
rather  listless  saunterer ;  then  as  the  enthusiastic  Ham- 


HIS  HAEVABD  DAYS.  409 

mersmith  of  his  junior  year,  — this,  of  course,  along  with 
other  great  questions  of  the  day,  which  kept  abreast  of 
the  literarj",  or  musical,  or  artistic  frenzy  of  the  moment. 

"Tom,  my  boy,"  said  his  uncle  one  evening,  as  they 
were  sitting  in  the  "  Duke's  "  grand  apartments  in  town, 
"this  is  all  very  well,  —  this  feasting  and  dancing,  and 
so  on.  I  had  my  own  idea  in  drawing  you  into  it ;  and 
I'm  happy  to  see  that  you  enjoj7  it,  and  are  yourself  a  suc- 
cess, —  yes,  yes,  you  are  !  Don't  deny  it.  I'm  happy  to 
think  you're  making  such  good  friends,  I  say.  Gad,  sir, 
why  shouldn't  a  man  have  a  plenty  of  stanch  friends, 
with  good  balances  at  their  bankers,  on  whom  he  may  call 
in  the  time  of  need  ?  ' ' 

"  But  I  never  should,"  urged  Tom  the  innocent. 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not.  Let  us  hope  not,  at  any  rate. 
But  it's  a  deused  comfortable  thing  to  think  of,  to  have 
such  a  list  of  nabobs  at  your  command  as  Minturn  and 
Tappington,  Lambrekin  and  Bludsoe, — though  Blud- 
soe,  bah !  I  hear  he's  going  under,  poor  fellow !  Too 
much  splurge,  too  many  horses,  sill}*  wife  driving  him 
crazy,  girls  that  must  have  Worth  trumpery,  —  the  same 
old  story,  my  boy.  And  I've  been  thinking,  —  I've  been 
thinking  a  great  deal  about  you,  my  young  man,  and 
I've  made  up  my  mind  you  ought  to  settle  down  as  soon 
as  you  leave  college.  You  ought  to  settle,  sir,  and  get  to 
work  at  once,  and  — well,  I  might  as  well  put  it  as  it  has 
occurred  to  me,  Tom  ;  I'm  a  blunt  old  fellow,  3*ou  know 
—  you  ought  to  be  looking  about  —  for  a  —  you  ought 
1o  be  thinking  of  getting  married." 

"Oh,  nonsense  !  "  said  Tom.  "  Excuse  me  ;  but  I  beg 
to  differ  from  you.  I  shall  never  marry." 

"What,  my  boy!     Never  marry!      Come,  come!     A 

youngster  has  a  notion  of  that  sort  once  or  twice  in  his 

.  life,  I  know  quite  well ;  but  it  passes  away  when  spring 

conies  round,  as  a  rule,  unless  —  you  don't  mean  to  say 


410  HAMMERSMITH : 

—  you  know  the  French  judge,  whenever  a  criminal  was 
brought  before  him,  invariably  asked,  '  Who  is  she?  '  — • 
you  haven't  been  hit,  Tom  ?  Boggle  affair  left  its  mark  ?  ' ' 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  said  Tom.  "  That  was  too 
silly  to  affect  anybody,  too  unutterably  silly !  But  1 
never  shall,  uncle,  I  never  shall.  I  don't  think  it  pays." 

44  Well,  I'm  glad  you've  no  more  serious  objection.  I 
was  afraid  some  of  your  Cambridge  sirens  had  been  sing- 
ing to  you  from  the  off  shore  ;  "  and  the  uncle  eyed  Tom 
narrowly.' 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  no!  "  returned  Tom,  putting  his  chin 
in  air. 

"  Gad,  sir,  but  I  shouldn't  have  blamed  you!  Most 
uncommon  nice  girls  you  have -out  there,  most  uncommon 
clover  as  well.  There  was  a  time  —  Miss  Darby,  you 
know.  Well,  I  didn't  know  but  that  you  and  she  had  an 
understanding  of  some  sort." 

"  Miss  Darby !  Jove,  no !  "  answered  Tom.  "  Didn't 
you  know  she  was  engaged  to  Breese  ?  ' ' 

"  Breese !  Miss  Darby!  Good  gad,  no!  Vraiment? 
Perhaps  he's  cut  j*ou  out,  you  young  rascal !  No?  Well, 
a  good  thing,  a  good  thing  for  Breese.  Uncommon  clever 
fellow,  make  his  mark  some  day,  and  doused  sweet,  charm- 
ing girl,  but  Darby  exchequer  a  trifle  low,  eh?  —  a  trifle 
low.  Gad,  sir !  why  shouldn't  a  fellow  capture  a  young 
woman  that  can  bring  him  a  good  pot  of  money,  eh? 
Gad !  it's  no  more  trouble  to  fall  in  love  with  a  rich  girl 
than  a  poor  one." 

"  But,  good  gracious,  uncle !  you  seem  to  consider  that 
a  man  can  regulate  the  matter  for  himself,  —  fall  in  love, 
as  3rou  say,  at  command.  So  much  money,  so  much  love. 
That's  not  my  idea  of  the  matter,  I  assure  you,  uncle. 
If  I  ever  do  marry,  —  which  I  greatly  doubt,  —  it  will  be 
from  no  such  consideration  as  that  you  suggest,  you  can 
depend  upon  it!  " 


HTS   HARVARD   DAYS.  411 

"  Oh  !  well,  love  and  a  cottage  is  all  very  sweet  to  think 
about ;  cosey  little  time,  snug  little  rooms,  —  deused 
snug !  —  and  all  that.  But  I  tell  you  that  it's  no  more 
trouble  to  run  a  fine  establishment  than  a  little  box  of  a 
hut  in  the  suburbs,  if  you've  only  the  sinews  of  war ;  and 
it's  a  deused  sight  more  comfortable !  Gad,  man,  why 
shouldn't  you  have  the  sinews  of  war?"  And  the  old 
gentleman,  in  evening-dress,  smoothed  a  pair  of  white 
gloves  upon  the  centre-table,  and  threw  himself  back  in 
an  arm-chair.  "  Why  shouldn't  you  have  a  fine  establish- 
ment some  day,  and  keep  up  the  old  Hammersmith  name? 
We've  been  a  wandering  set  for  the  last  generation  or  so ; 
and,  gad !  I'd  like  to  see  the  old  family  taking  its  place 
again,  and  making  its  mark  in  the  world.  You'll  have  a 
pretty  little  fortune  of  your  own  in  a  few  months,  —  no 
thanks  to  you !  —  and  with  care  and  economy,  and  such 
an  arrangement  as  I  propose,  there's  no  limit  to  the  ambi- 
tion that  you  might  set  for  yourself:  you  could  do  any 
thing  jou  chose,  my  boy." 

"What  arrangement  do  you  speak  of?"  asked  Tom 
carelessly,  yet  not  averse,  in  Ms  present  frame  of  mind, 
to  see  what  plan  his  fond  uncle  might  have  been  devising 
in  his  worldly  old  brain. 

' '  What  do  j'ou  say  to  Miss  —  you  must  have  found  — 
charming  girl,  such  sweet  manners  !  —  what  do  you  say  to 
Miss  Malachite?  "  asked  the  uncle. 

"  Charming  enough,  but  a  most  confounded  little  flirt! 
that's  all,"  answered  Tom. 

"Ah,  but  that  will  wear  off,  that  will  wear  off,"  said 
the  uncle,  "  like  the  radicalism  of  your  Mend  Breese,  or 
the  various  penchants  of  certain  very  estimable  young 
gentlemen  that  I  might  mention,"  he  added,  with  a 
knowing  look  at  Tom.  "  Gad,  but  you  young  fellows  are 
not  fond  of  being  put  in  strait-jackets,  I  believe !  You 
must  have  your  fling  out  before  you  settle  down.  Would 


4]  2  HAMMEESMITH : 

you  deny  a  clever,  lively  young  woman  the  right  to  the 
homage  and  the  devotion,  yes,  dammy,  and  tho  destruc- 
tion (it's  no  more  than  fair),  that  follow  in  her  train?  II 
alwa3's  takes  two  to  make  a  foolish  bargain,  you  must  have 
observed."  And  the  uncle  many  times  reverted  to  this 
rather  mercenary  subject  of  his,  impressing  his  views  with 
all  manner  of  worldly  arguments,  that  were  quite  novel  to 
Mr.  Tom. 

On  one  occasion,  indeed,  Mr.  Gayton  broke  out,  in  a 
wild,  sad  sort  of  way,  with  an  account  of  his  own  cheer- 
less condition  in  his  old  age.  "  A  worthless  old  beggar, 
Tom,  a  worthless  old  beggar !  "  he  said,  "  whom  nobody 
cares  about,  nobody  loves ;  shunted  about  from  one  cor- 
ner of  the  world  to  another  ;  feasted  and  toasted  now  and 
then  by  some  reminiscent  friend,  to  be  sure,  who  is  happjr 
with  his  wife  and  his  youngsters,  but  no  account,  no 
account,  Tom  !  Gad,  how  lonely  I  am,  —  how  lonely ! 
Take  warning  from  me,  —  a  miserable  old  fellow  who 
might  have  had  quite  a  different  life,  if  I'd  had  somebody 
to  talk  to  me  at  your  age."  And  instinctively  his  hand 
travelled  to  his  forehead,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  scar, 
which  was  growing  fainter  with  age  ;  and  Tom  felt  again- 
like  asking  him  for  its  history.  But  his  uncle  looked  such 
a  picture  of  dejection,  as  he  lay  sunk  back  in  his  chair, 
gazing  into  the  fire,  that  Tom  dared  not  allude  to  what 
he  felt  must  be  a  tender  subject,  and,  instead,  did  what  he 
could,  in  a  young  man's  wa}',  to  comfort  and  cheer  the  old 
worldling. 

Many  such  conversations  made  no  appreciable  impres- 
sion on  Mr.  Tom,  except,  perhaps,  to  draw  his  mind  more 
away  from  Cambridge,  and  to  plant  a  few  worldly  weeds 
within  it.  Mr.  Gayton,  though  he  was  a  bit  chagrined 
that  his  nephew  did  not  readily  fall  into  his  plans  and 
mode  of  thinking,  was  not  displeased,  withal,  to  find  that 
he  was  an  orthodox  Hammersmith  j'oungster,  bound  to 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  413 

have  his  own  way,  and  fight  his  battles  unaided,  even  if 
they  left  him  covered  with  scars  such  as  marked  his  own 
aged  forehead. 

Such  blunt  references  as  the  uncle's,  however,  could  not 
fail  to  pique  Tom's  curiosity  keenly  as  to  the  attractions 
of  the  Miss  Malachite  alluded  to,  as  well  as  to  make  him 
weigh  more  carefully  than  he  had  ever  weighed  before  the 
comparative  and  distinctive  pleasure  that  the  society  of  a 
girl  like  Miss  Malachite,  and  a  girl  like  Miss  Darby,  gave 
him.  "We  are  not  concerned  in  watching  the  balances  in 
this  rather  Breesian  operation.  We  may  know,  however, 
that  one  result  of  the  inquiry  was  a  most  turbulent  state 
of  mind  in  our  fluctuating  Ruddiman,  —  somewhere  near 
the  middle  of  the  winter,  —  when  he  beheld  Mr.  Tom 
devoting  himself  with  unusual  perseverance  to  Miss  Mala- 
chite on  the  evening  of  a  great  dinner  at  the  Lambrekins' ; 
taking  her  in  to  dinner  (not  that  he  was  to  blame  for 
that),  sitting  in  absorbed  tete-a-tete  with  her  afterwards, 
while  the  music  was  going  on,  and,  as  Ruddiman  very 
much  feared,  making  fun  at  somebody's  expense.  At 
whose  expense  he  did  not  trust  himself  to  think ;  but  he 
was  painfully  aware  that  several  mischievous  glances  were 
directed  to  his  quarter  as  he  sat  dumb  with  a  Miss  May- 
flower in  a  corner ;  and  he  was  quite  sure  that  he  had 
heard  his  own  name  mentioned  just  before  a  light  burst 
of  laughter  from  Mr.  Tom  and  Miss  Malachite. 

Ruddiman  had  strong  thoughts  of  calling  Hammersmith 
to  account  for  it,  in  fact,  and  did  actually  summon  cour- 
age, several  days  afterwards,  to  suggest  to  him,  with  con- 
siderable emphasis  of  sarcasm,  that  he  thought,  for  a  man 
that  professed  to  ignore  the  whole  female  sex,  Hammer- 
smith was  making  himself  ' '  most  deused  devoted  "  to  a 
certain  young  lady  whom  he  need  not  mention.  Tom  had 
laughed  it  off,  and  pooh-poohed  the  idea  of  Miss  Mala- 
chite's taking  his  devotion  for  any  thing  serious.  But 


414  HAMMERSMITH : 

Ruddiman  didn't  know :  Tom  was  a  most  dangerous 
fellow  to  have  about  one's  young  lady  friends.  And  this 
aspect  of  the  Ruddiman-Hammersmith-Malachite  question 
was  not  slow  in  finding  its  way  to  Cambridge  and  its 
numerous  gatherings,  you  may  rest  assured.  The  partic- 
ular medium  by  which  this  gossip  reached  Cambridge,  no 
one  can  doubt ;  only,  as  Hammersmith  was  now  a  party 
to  the  case,  it  chanced  that  poor  Goldie,  "  working  like  a 
horse,"  as  he  expressed  it,  for  a  commencement  part,  was 
selected  for  the  repository  of  the  overflowing  Ruddiman' s 
secrets  and  griefs.  This  was  a  relief,  an  infinite  relief,  to 
Hammersmith,  and  yet  eventually  a  cause  of  trouble  ;  for 
Goldie,  best  of  fellows  to  be  sure,  was  yet  extremely 
friendly  and  gossipy  with  his  cousin  Miss  Darby ;  and 
Ruddiman's  desperation  was  too  unprecedented  and 
laughable  for  Goldie  to  keep  altogether  to  himself. 

Many  weeks  had  passed  since  the  quarrel  of  Breese  and 
Hammersmith ;  during  which  the  two  had  not  spoken,  and 
had  but  rarely  met, — in  class  lectures  occasional!}7,  and  at 
the  Cambridge  parties  at  which  Mr.  Tom  condescended 
now  and  then  to  look  in.  There  was  nothing  in  the  attitude 
of  Miss  Darby  and  Breese,  so  far  as  Tom  could  discover, 
to  confute  the  report  of  their  engagement  that  had  gained 
currency.  If  Breese  did  not  have  as  monopolizing  and 
devoted  a  manner  as  several  weeks  ago,  what  of  that? 
Once  a  man  is  engaged,  who  expects  him  to  be  fluttering 
and  hovering  as  eagerly  as  though  he  were  not  sure  of  his 
prize?  If  Breese's  class-work  was  not  quite  so  accurate 
as  before,  and  his  articles  in  "  The  Harvard  Magazine,"  of 
which  he  was  an  editor,  were  not  quite  so  numerous,  win*, 
how  could  you  expect  it  of  a  man  in  love?  Ruddiman 
could  have  explainad  it  to  your  satisfaction,  —  Ruddiman, 
whose  literary  work  was  of  quite  another  character,  as  we 
shall  see. 

Several  weeks  had  passed.     Goldie  was  working  like  a 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  415 

Trojan,  as  has  been  said.  Hammersmith,  in  spite  of  the 
languishing  air,  quite  new  to  him,  was  doing  better  work 
than  ever  since  his  freshman  year.  Breese  and  Albemarle 
and  the  rest,  who  were  certain  of  their  commencement  parts, 
were  working  well,  to  be  sure,  but  by  no  means  so  hard 
as  a  body  of  men,  not  mentioned  in  these  pages,  who  were 
fired  by  the  new  order  allowing  commencement  parts  to 
be  obtained  on  senior  work  alone.  These  men  were  work- 
ing with  all  the  vim  which  comes  of  long  rest  and  athletic 
lives  ;  and  their  example  was  so  infectious,  that  there  was 
hardly  a  man  in  the  class  who  did  not  feel  its  force,  and 
rouse  himself  to  make  his  senior  work  more  creditable 
than  any  that  had  gone  before. 

Ruddiman  continued  to  hurl,  and  Waddle  to  dodge,  as 
of  yore.  But  the  squat  menial  now  and  then  stole  a  march 
on  his  lord,  and  crept  quietly  in  and  out  with  a  pair  of 
shoes,  without  so  much  as  being  observed,  while  the  little 
man  sat  gloomily  in  his  bed,  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  but  now 
often  with  paper  and  pencil  in  his  lap  —  doing  what  ?  If 
you  are  remarkably  curious  to  know,  and  will  look  into  the 
numbers  of  "  The  Harvard  Magazine  "  that  were  current 
at  the  time,  you  will  see  various  slender  poems,  mostly  of 
an  erotic  or  a  settled  melancholy  style,  with  the  simple  sig- 
nature "  R."  They  are  not  pretentious  :  they  are  merely 
spontaneous  gushings,  unavoidable  overflows,  from  the 
great  Ruddiman  heart,  —  "The  False  Fair  One,"  "  Ad 
Ministram,"  "  The  Heart  that  is  always  True  "  (this  of 
his  own  organ),  "  To  a  Flirt,"  and  many  others,  which 
appeared  month  after  month  in  the  proper  place,  alongside 
of  trenchant  leaders  by  Breese,  heavy  disquisitions  by 
AJbemarle,  and  lively  epics  by  Trimble,  who  had  the  light- 
est touch  in  verse  of  an}*  man  in  college.  Heaven  only 
knows  how  many  more  went  to  swell  the  pile  of  rejected 
manuscript  in  the  sanctum  of  the  editors,  and  were 
banded  about  and  laughed  over  by  those  severe  officials  in 


416  HAMMERSMITH: 

their  moments  of  levity.  How  gloomy,  how  misanthropic^ 
how  wildly  desperate,  they  were  !  —  copied  and  paraphrased 
BO  carefully  from  the  whole  range  of  literature,  ancient 
and  modern.  "Every  clever  man,  such  as  Leibnitz  or 
Kant  for  instance,  must  have  written  verses  in  his  youth," 
says  Jean  Paul ;  and  if  every  clever  man,  then,  of  course, 
every  Ruddiman  !  What  tender  versicles  they  were,  when 
they  chose  to  be  tender !  But,  as  Hood  says,  writing  on 
a  certain  baby,  "  I  cannot  write  any  more  on  him,  he  is 
so  soft,  and  I  have  only  steel  pens." 

It  was  while  Hammersmith  was  in  the  frame  of  mind 
imperfectly  outlined  above,  that  the  all-important  class- 
elections  came  on,  and  the  various  societies,  secret  and 
open,  marshalled  their  forces,  and  prepared  to  make  a 
sharp  fight  over  the  distribution  of  the  spoils  of  war. 
There  had  been  button-holing  and  canvassing,  secret  meet- 
ings and  forming  of  "slates,"  and  all  the  preliminary 
pulling  of  wires,  of  which  Americans  are  fond,  for  many 
weeks  now.  Men  had  been  begged  to  consent  to  run  for 
this  office,  societies  to  allow  this  name  to  go  on  a  ticket. 
The  records  of  candidates  were  scrutinized  as  carefully  as 
if  the  elections  were  to  decide  the  government  of  the  uni- 
verse -for  an  entire  centuiy ;  and  Mr.  Tom,  for  his  part, 
was  thoroughly  disgusted  with  the  thought  of  all  the 
subterfuge  and  undue  rivalry,  the  jealous}*-  and  the  proba- 
ble enmity.  His  peculiar  condition  of  mind  at  this  time, 
his  diminished  interest  in  the  petty  wrangles  of  college- 
life,  and  his  more  frequent  absence  in  Boston,  tended  to 
this  feeling  of  disgust. 

It  was  quite  natural,  therefore,  that,  when  the  meeting 
for  the  elections  came  off,  he  should  saiyiter,  with  the  rest, 
into  Hold  en  Chapel,  after  supper,  and  expect  nothing  but 
a  long  evening  of  bargain  and  sale,  crimination  and  re- 
crimination. He  was  not  disappointed. 

The  secret  societies,  which  have  not,  to  be  sure,  such 


HIS    HARVARD   DAYS.  417 

prominent  public-it}',  or  such  flamboyant  insignia,  as  at 
other  colleges,  are  capable  of  wielding  great  power  at 
such  a  time.  Great  power! — one  would  say  that  a  con- 
gress of  nations  was  in  progress,  and  that  the  talk  was  of 
some  vast  and  earth-shaking  combination,  instead  of  a, 
friendly  meeting  of  youth  to  elect  their  officers  for  class- 
da}*,  the  seniors'  day  of  farewell.  I  must  look  at  it  all 
from  the  young  man's  stand,  I  own,  and  must  admit  the 
fact,  that  the  secret  societies,  the  Pudding,  the  O.  K.,  with 
a  numerous  body  of  men  called  "The  Outs,"  had  spent 
a  large  part  of  the  evening  in  excited  discussion  of  plans 
for  distribution  of  the  offices,  of  compromises  to  please  all 
parties,  and  iu  fiery  speeches  only  kept  within  due  bounds 
by  the  extremest  exercise  of  power  by  the  chairman,  Al- 
bemarle,  when  suddenly  Hammersmith  stood  up  on  a  back 
seat,  and  called  out,  — 

"Mr.  Chairman." 

Men  were  talking,  shouting,  moving  about,  making 
motions,  after  the  manner  of  the  national  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives on  a  field-night.  But  at  last  Albemarle  rec- 
ognized Mr.  Torn,  rapped  with  liis  gavel,  and  called  out,  — 

"  Mr.  Hammersmith.  Gentlemen  will  be  kind  enough  tc 
preserve  order.  "\Ve  shall  never  be  able  to  finish  business, 
if  quiet  is  not  maintained.  Mr.  Hammersmith  has  the 
floor." 

"  Mr.  Chairman  and  gentlemen,"  began  Hammersmith, 
%i  I've  been  sitting  here  a  couple  of  hours  now,  listening 
to  what's  been  said,  and  trying  to  see  some  way  out  of 
the  snarl  that  we've  gotten  into.  I  want  to  say,  in  the 
first  place,  that  I  am  not  a  candidate  for  any  office,  and 
I  haven't  been  a  party  to  any  of  the  schemes  that  have 
been  on  foot  to  secure  offices  for  this  or  that  society. 
Having  said  this,  I  am  more  free  to  put  what  I  have  to 
say  to  this  meeting. 
.  "  Everybody  present  knows,  I  suppose,  how  universal 


418  HAMMERSMITH: 

this  custom  of  canvassing  for  offices  has  become  here  in 
Cambridge,  in  the  middle  of  senior  }-ear ;  and  how  a 
whole  class  is  cut  up  into  sets  and  parties  by  this  squab- 
ble after  a  few  beggarly  honors  that  are  held  to  be  veiy 
important  for  a  few  weeks,  and  then  are  past  and  gone. 
Everybod}7  knows  all  this,  and  knows  how,  for  weeks  now, 
men  have  been  rushing  about  like  maniacs,  pledging  other 
fellows,  and  getting  their  votes,  bargaining  this  office  for 
that,  pitching  into  this  man,  and  cracking  up  that,  and 
doing  all  they  can  to  set  us  all  by  the  ears,  and  make  our 
last  few  months  here  as  much  of  a  hot-bed  as  possible. 
If  anybody  doubts  this,  let  him  reflect  on  what  has  been 
going  on  in  this  chapel  for  the  last  two  hours,  and  consid- 
er if  the  turmoil  and  bitterness  will  not  be  vastly  greater 
before  we  are  through,  if  we  go  on  in  the  old  way. 

"  Now,  I  say  all  this  is  wrong.  I  am  a  Pudding  man, 
and  I'm  glad  of  it!  I  have  a  good  many  friends  in  the 
club ;  and  I  think  we  have  some  suitable  men  for  the 
class  offices.  You  are  O.  K.  men,  some  of  you  ;  and  you 
are  doubtless  glad  of  it :  you  think  of  your  own  club  and 
men  as  I  do  of  mine,  and  it  is  very  natural.  But  I  don't 
think  it  is  right,  I  don't  think  it  is  right  at  all,  for  the 
Pudding,  or  the  O.  K.,  or  any  other  society,  to  gobble  all 
the  offices,  or  divide  them  up  among  them  to  suit  them- 
selves. It  is  making  unpleasant  feeling  ;  it  is  not  fair  to 
the  large  body  of  outsiders ;  and  what  is  the  use  of  all 
this  quarrelling?  There  are  men  enough,  good  enough 
men,  in  the  class  to  fill  all  the  offices ;  and  a  man  isn't 
any  better  because  he  happens  to  belong  to  a  society,  and 
has  a  badge  hanging  up  in  his  room ;  not  a  bit  of  it. 
We  are  all  classmates  ;  and  I  tell  }'ou  right  here,  that  if 
this  squabble  goes  on,  and  one  party  or  the  other  forces 
Its  ticket  through,  it  will  make  a  state  of  things  that  we 
shall  all  regret  most  emphatically ;  and  none  more  so  than 
the  men  who  have  been  engineering  these  different  jobs,  — 


HTS  HARVARD   DAYS.  419 

or  else  I  don't  know  what  I'm  talking  about :  and  I  think 
I  do. 

"Now,  what  do  I  propose?  I  move,  Mr.  Chairman, 
that  the  sense  of  this  meeting  be  recorded  as  against  any 
combinations,  or  slates,  or  any  thing  of  the  kind ;  and  I 
move  further  that  a  direct  ballot  be  taken  at  once  for 
every  officer  in  turn." 

"You  can  only  make  one  motion  at  a  tune,  Mr.  Ham- 
mersmith," said  Albemarle. 

"  Then  I  move,  sir,  to  simplify  matters,  that  this  meet- 
ing proceed  at  once  to  ballot  for  the  officers  of  class  day 
seriatim,  in  the  order  to  be  designated  by  the  Chair." 
And  Hammersmith  sat  down. 

Harvard  men  are  not  especially  inflammable.  They 
are  not  apt  to  be  carried  away  by  a  clever  speech  or  a 
brilliant  sally.  They  retain  enough  of  the  old  colonial 
spirit  of  controversy  and  debate  never  to  give  their  assent 
to  a  proposition,  unless  their  judgment  shall  approve. 
They  are  certainly  not  as  fickle  as  the  French,  of  whom 
Pierre  d'Avity  wrote  in  1615,  "They  are  easy;  and  a 
witty  fellow  is  able  to  mutine  a  thousand."  But  equally 
certain  it  is,  that  almost  before  the  chairman  could  put 
the  question,  and  a  great  answering  "  Ay  "  had  gone  up, 
the  straightforward  words  of  Hammersmith,  —  sufficient 
yet  not  personal,  earnest  yet  not  bitter,  —  and  the  sight 
of  the  young  fellow  who  had  served  his  college  so  well  at 
Worcester,  standing  there,  and  counselling  what  a  vast 
number  felt,  but  dared  not  say,  had  had  their  effect. 

Before  he  had  concluded,  there  was  a  buzz  among  the 
groups  of  men.  When  the  "Ays"  had  been  shouted, 
and  a  few  scattering  "  Noes  "  had  onty  served  to  raise  a 
laugh,  a  man  jumped  up,  Thorpe,  who  had  been  the  can- 
didate of  the  O.  K.  and  others  for  the  office  of  chief  mar- 
shal. Cries  of  "Hammersmith,  Hammersmith!"  came 
from  several  paits  of  the  meeting;  and  Thorpe,  securing 


420  HAMMERSMITH : 

the  floor,  moved  that  Hammersmith  be  declared  the 
choice  of  the  class  for  chief  marshal  by  acclamation. 
"No,  no!"  came  feebly  from  a  far  corner.  Hammer-- 
smith rose,  and  protested  that  he  should  not  serve,  if 
elected,  after  what  he  had  said  ;  but  the  chairman  put  the 
motion.  Such  a  tremendous  booming  chorus  of  "  Ays  " 
was  given,  that  not  a  single  man  dared  open  his  mouth 
to  say  "No"  when  the  time  came.  So  at  last,  despite 
many  protestations  on  Hammersmith's  part,  —  who  in- 
sisted that  he  would  be  subject  to  gross  misconstruction 
if  he  allowed  himself  to  accept  the  office  after  his  speech 
of  the  evening,  —  he  at  last  gave  way  to  the  solicitations 
of  the  earnest  fellows  who  crowded  about  him,  and  ac- 
cepted the  honor  with  many  thanks. 

Thorpe  had  been  especially  urgent  that  he  should  ac- 
cept, —  a  manly,  studious  fellow,  on  the  pattern  of  Breese, 
though  with  much  more  popular  traits.  Freemantle,  the 
regular  Pudding  candidate  for  the  post,  seeing  how  things 
were  going,  came  and  begged  Tom  to  accept ;  but  he  had 
made  himself  so  obnoxious  to  the  majority  of  the  class 
before  this  evening  by  his  partisan  efforts  and  personal 
ambition,  that  this  tardy  action  did  not  save  him.  He 
not  only  lost  the  place  of  marshal,  either  first,  second,  or 
third,  but  when,  later  in  the  evening,  he  was  put  upon  the 
class-day  committee,  with  Pinckney  as  chairman,  he  felt 
the  snub  so  keenly,  that  he  rose,  declined  the  honor  posi- 
tively, and  left  the  meeting  in  dudgeon,  as  disappointed 
a  man  as  ever  a  confident  candidate  for  a  high  office  could 
be.  Poor  Freemantle ! 

The  ice  was  broken.  The  good  beginning  inaugurated 
by  Hammersmith's  speech,  and  his  choice  by  acclamation, 
was  followed  up  by  the  meeting  ;  and  all  the  bitterness  of 
spirit  that  might  have  run  through  the  whole  class  wau 
confined  to  a  few  unhappy  self-seekers,  like  Freemantle 
who  perhaps  deserved  their  lot.  Breese  was  elected  ora- 


HIS    HAEVAIID    DAYS.  42.1 

tor  after  a  close  ballot  with  Albemarle  ;  Trimble  was  the 
only  man  thought  of  tor  poet  ;  Thorpe1  and  (ioldie  were 
added  to  the  list  of  marshals;  Albemarle  was  elected 
chairman  of  the  class  committee  ;  Pinckney,  of  the  class- 
day  committee,  as  Las  been  said  ;  and  a  good  feeling  pre- 
vailed  at  the  close  of  the  meeting,  and  ever  afterward 
during  the  montlis  that  tin:  men  were  together  as  a  class, 
which  was  in  striking  contrast  to  the  fends  and  rankling 
too  commonly  engendered  by  such  meetings,  — a  good 
feeling,  which,  I  trust,  is  still  the  rule,  and  not  the  excep- 
tion, after  class  elections,  and  all  other  meeting's  of  the 
student  bcdy  politic  aud  body  athletic. 


422  HAMMEKSMITH  : 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A    GALLOP  FOR   A   SENORITA. 

"  A  good  rider  on  a  good  horse  is  as  much  above  himself  and  others  aa  th« 
*orld  can  make  him."  —  LORD  HERBERT  of  Cherbury. 

Ol  EVERAL  weeks  had  passed  in  the  second  term  of 
k.^  senior  year.  Hammersmith's  cynic  spirit  had  given 
way  almost  completely  before  the  pleasant  excitement 
attending  the  reception  of  his  name  at  the  late  class 
elections.  He  seemed  to  be  gliding  back  into  his  old 
enthusiastic  self.  The  honor  paid  him  by  his  classmates, 
their  devoted  attachment  to  their  chief  marshal,  his  short 
but  merry  Christmas  visit  at  home,  on  which  Goldie  ac- 
companied him,  —  many  things  conspired  to  produce  this 
old-time  cheerful  mood.  And  not  the  least  factor  in  this 
happy  result  was  the  following  graphic  letter  from  Pen- 
hallow  the  rover,  which  came  to  him  one  day  in  spring, 
and  produced  no  little  excitement  hi  the  quadrangle,  when 
its  news  was  made  known :  — 

SANTA  BARBARA,  CAL.,  Feb.  25, 186-. 

MY  DEAK  OLD  TOM,  —  Why  am  I  here  ?  Why  have  I  left  the 
company  of  the  much-bleating  and  the  horny?  Why  have  I 
eloped  from  Simmons?  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  as  briefly  as 
possible. 

I  have  told  you  several  times  of  the  Machado  girl,  Senorita 
Guadalupe  Machado,  of  the  ranch  over  the  hills  from  Simmor.s's 
samp,  you  remember.  Well,  last  Tuesday  came  a  mounted  Mexi- 
can to  us  lying  in  hammocks,  and  reading  of  you  poo  •  idiots 
snowed  up  in  Cambridge  and  Boston.  Would  the  Scilor  and  his 
friend  honor  the  Don  Pedro  Machado  by  attending  at  a  fandango 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  423 

and  general  powwow  in  honor  of  his  beloved  daughter's  ap- 
proaching nuptials  with  the  young  Don  Jose"  Maria  Lugo  de  Val- 
lejo,  recently  from  the  pure-blooded  Castilians  of  Spain?  Of 
course  the  Senor  and  his  friend  were  only  too  happy,  and  tried  to 
put  on  as  many  airs  in  accepting  the  polite  invitation  as  the  red- 
sashed  centaur  had  assumed  in  delivering  it.  We  didn't  know  at 
the  time  what  a  figure  this  much-bearded  messenger  was  to  cut 
hi  the  near  future,  cutting  into  more  biographies  than  one. 

We  accepted,  we  went,  bedizened  in  our  most  carefully  pre- 
served of  Van  Nason's  finery,  and  hoping  to  eclipse  the  local 
Spanish  youth,  and  fire  the  too  hasty  Senorita  with  regretful  long- 
ing, by  reason  of  the  exceeding  gorgeousness  of  our  get-up.  I 
need  not  say  that  we  failed  ignominiously  in  this  attempt ;  for  who 
could  shine  beside  the  handsome  young  Don!  —  fiery  as  to  his  eye, 
graceful  and  impetuous  as  to  his  manners,  liquid  as  to  his  beauti- 
ful tenor  voice,  nimble-footed  in  the  dance,  light  of  touch  at  the 
seductive  guitar,  destructive  (beyond  New-England  standards,  my 
boy)  with  his  low  voice,  his  tender  glances,  and  absorbing  style  of 
devotion ;  a  magnificent  horseman,  moreover,  as  you  shall  hear. 

N"or  need  I  say  that  the  fandango  was  a  success;  and  that 
when,  far  in  the  night,  the  large  company  (made  up  of  representa- 
tives from  the  De  la  Guerras,  Figueroas,  Carrillos,  Micheltorrenas, 
Del  Valles,  and  other  swell  families  of  this  lower  country)  toddled 
off  to  their  respective  "  downies,"  the  ample  quarters  of  Don  Pedro 
were  taxed  to  their  utmost,  and  everybody  was  full  of  expectation 
for  the  elaborate  wedding  to  come  off  at  noon  of  the  next  day. 
Simmons  and  I,  I  know,  fell  off  to  sleep  while  chaffing  each  other 
on  tho  subject  of  matrimony,  and  speculating  if  Spanish  weddings 
allowed  to  invited  guests  any  of  those  sweet  perquisites  that 
plucky  ushers  and  groomsmen  are  wont  to  seize  in  the  east.  But 
we  did  not  know  what  was  in  store  for  the  next  day. 

At  early  dawn  a  terrific  scream  wakened  the  whole  house- 
hold, scattered  about  in  the  rambling  adobe  building.  People 
were  rushing  about  in  the  court-yard ;  horses  were  being  fetched 
from  the  corrals;  men  were  saddling  and  mounting,  women 
screaming.  A  knock  at  our  door.  Will  the  Senor  and  his 
friend  be  pleased  to  come  forth  and  aid  in  the  search?  for  the 
beautiful  Seiiorita  Guadalupe  is  gone!  —  gone  quien  sabe,  nobody 
knows  where;  and  Don  Jose  Maria,  her  lover,  is  beside  himself 
with  grief.  Gone  in  the  dead  of  night,  nobody  knows  when. 
There  are  fresh  horse-tracks  outside  the  court-yard.  The  Seno- 
Tito's  door  is  ajir;  her  Mexican  maid,  astir  early  on  this  festal 


424  HAMMERSMITH  : 

morning,  had  entered,  wondering  at  the  open  door,  and  found  her 
gone.  Hence  the  scream,  hence  the  excitement. 

No  clew,  no  clew  for  several  hours,  during  which  a  hundred 
(no,  I'll  say  fifty)  men,  young  and  old,  were  scouring  the  country 
in  every  direction,  examining  trails,  ascending  hill-peaks.,  looking 
for  tracks.  At  last  came  a  man,  riding  as  only  a  Spaniard  can 
ride,  tearing  up  the  valley  from  the  direction  of  Ventura,  —  Sun 
Buena- Ventura,  Ventura  for  short. 

Who?  What  news?  The  messenger  Juan,  returning  from  a 
sheep-camp  down  the  valley  in  the  gray  of  morning;  two  horses, 
seen  in  the  dim  light,  —  two  horses  and  three  riders,  galloping 
fiercely  westward  down  the  valley.  Three  horsemen?  Si  Senor. 
Espaiioles  t  Si  Senor,  but  one  a  woman ;  and  he  produced  a  hand- 
kerchief picked  up  on  the  road.  The  young  Don  snatched  it  from 
his  hand ,  examined  it,  touched  it  quickly  to  his  lips,  and,  with  a 
"  (jracias  a  Dios,"  thrust  it  into  his  bosom,  and  tightened  his 
pistol-belt. 

Thus  much  for  a  clew,  but  many  precious  hours  lost.  Present- 
ly the  young  Don,  a  Machado,  Juan,  and  myself,  were  mounted, 
-and  spurring  down  the  valley.  Simmons  gave  way  to  me,  press- 
ing me  to  mount  his  horse  in  place  of  mine ;  but  my  little  Diablo 
had  stood  me  so  well,  that  I  would  not  dishonor  him  by  leaving 
him  behind  now,  when  there  was  possible  glory  ahead.  Juan  had 
rushed  to  a  corral,  turned  loose  Ms  tired  beast,  caught  and 
mounted  another  —  a  vicious-looking  gray,  blind  of  one  eye  —  in 
quicker  time  than  it  takes  me  to  tell  of  it.  We  four,  with  pistols 
at  our  belts,  riding  lightly,  went  careering  down  the  valley. 

No  word  was  spoken.  The  men  seemed  to  know  every  trail, 
every  ford,  every  landmark.  Their  eyes  were  everywhere:  they 
noted  every  sign  in  the  road  on  which  we  were  galloping.  But 
there  was  no  need  of  especial  caution;  for  here  were  the  plain 
marks  of  two  galloping  horses,  one  of  which  had  been  shod  only 
on  the  fore-feet,  and,  having  lost  one  of  those  shoes,  had  left  a 
sign,  not  easily  mistaken,  wherever  he  went. 

Five  miles,  and  Juan  says,  "Aqui,  Senor,"  pointing  to  some 
trees  on  the  right;  and  explains  that  from  there  he  saw  the  flying 
horsemen  early  in  the  morning.  Heavens,  how  much  time  has 
been  lost ! 

Trails  lead  off  here  and  there  over  the  side-hills.  They  are  care- 
fully examined ;  and  once  Juan  gives  a  great  grunt  of  satisfaction 
as  he  sees  the  horse-tracks  leading  into  a  certain  trail.  He  speaks 
(the  young  Don  interprets  to  me)  as  we  take  up  this  trail:  "Muy 


HIS    HARVARD    DAYS.  -J-.J 

bunw.  Xo  chance  to  escape,  if  they  have  taken  this  (rail.  Land- 
slide in  mountains  blocked  up  trail.  Catrh  them  surely,  if  they've 
gone  this  way."  But,  as  he  finished  talking.  .Tumi  sheered  sud- 
denly to  the  left,  with  another  grunt.  The  villains  had  turned 
off  here  for  a  mere  Mind,  leaving  the  new  trail  on  a  bit  of  rouky 
ground,  and  returning  to  the  valley-road  lower  down.  Cunning 
llight  this:  equally  cunning  pursuit:  Juan.  Argu.--eyed. 

More  trails,  more  blinds,  much  valuable  time  lost. 

Ten  miles.  Horses  breathing  very  hard.  The  Dun's  glorious 
black,  without  a  white  spot  on  him.  save  a  star  in  his  forehea  1, 
Machado's  sorrel,  Juan's  ugly  gray,  my  little  roan,  are  dropping 
foam  from  their  mouths  as  they  run.  We  dismount  by  a  creek, 
throw  our  saddles  on  the  ground,  give  our  beasts  a  mouthful  of 
water,  walk  them  up  and  down  for  five  minutes,  saddle,  are  up 
and  away.  Not  much  mercy  for  horseflesh  have  these  Spaniards. 
Why  should  they  have  in  a  chase  like  this,  with  fresh  horses  at 
Ventura,  twenty  miles  ahead,  and  a  beautiful  girl  being  whisked 
away  from  her  lover? 

By  Jove,  how  I  pitied  the  young  Don.  riding  with  his  lips 
pressed  firmly,  his  eyes  strained  ahead  on  the  road,  spurs  now  and 
then  plunged  strongly  into  the  sides  of  his  horse!  It  was  a 
glorious  sight.  lie  looked  as  handsome  as  a  picture;  but  it  was 
a  cruel  suspense  for  him. 

Santa  Paula  Cafion.  Can  they  have  fled  up  its  steep  road,  and 
issued  into  the  Ojai  Valley  above  ?  Another  blind,  another  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  lost.  Several  roads  diverging  to  the  left  as  the 
valley  comes  to  an  end.  Several  roads  leading  out  upon  the  broad 
Colonia  Raucho. 

Xo,  they  have  kept  straight  on.  There  are  the  single-shod 
horse  and  his  Tinshod  mate,  their  signatures  distinct  in  th<?  sand 
and  gravel.  There  is  but  one  road  for  them  now:  they  are  mak- 
ing for  Ventura. 

But  it  is  cruel  riding.  The  sun  is  hot:  the  horses  are  dripping 
wet.  They  look  haggard  and  worn  already,  with  their  liven ty- 
mile  jump.  Can  they  last  till  Ventura,  ten  miles  away'?  A 
breeze  meets  us  as  we  mount  a  liale  eminence,  and  sight  Ven- 
tura, now  seven  miles  off.  Our  boasts  feel  it:  they  are  crowded 
into  a  sharper  pace.  We  lift  our  hats,  and  cool  our  heads  with  i:s 
breath. 

Many  tracks  as  we  enter  Ventura.  Xo  sign  of  the  single-shod 
horse.  Xobody  has  seen  the  flying  horsemen:  when1  can  they 
have  gone?  The  beach!  And  Juan  and  Machado  dash  towards 


426  HAMMERSMITH : 

the  ocean  abreast  of  the  little  town,  and  are  back  in  a  few  ma 
ments.  Yes,  tracks  on  the  beach,  —  the  single-shod,  the  unshod. 
They  have  avoided  the  town,  and  wisely. 

Our  horses,  ourselves,  must  have  rest.  Thirty  miles  or  more 
from  the  start,  and  hardly  a  drawing  of  the  rein!  But  not  much 
rest. 

We  dash  up  to  the  Figueroas',  cousins  of  the  Machados.  We 
turn  loose  our  horses :  they  are  washed  down ;  buckets  of  water  are 
thrown  over  the  saddle-marks.  We  throw  ourselves  into  chairs, 
all  except  the  young  Don,  who  paces  the  floor,  his  eyes  flashing 
with  excitement. 

A  half -hour,  three-quarters ;  we  must  go.  I  must  have  a  new 
horse.  A  fiery,  long-bodied  beast,  reddish-sorrel,  with  cream-col- 
ored mane  and  tail,  is  caught  up  for  me.  They  call  him  a  palomino, 
from  his  color;  a  restless,  forever-prancing  animal;  no  easy  matter 
to  ride  him. 

Away,  across  the  Ventura  River,  around  the  headland,  and  a 
road  of  thirty  miles,  — half  on  the  beach,  half  skirting  it — stretches 
away  to  Santa  Barbara,  whose  mission  we  already  see  against  the 
sky. 

We  are  on  the  beach,  following  the  tracks.  The  waves  have 
come  up,  and  washed  them  away  in  places.  The  sun  is  setting. 
The  Santa  Barbara  Islands,  twenty  miles  away,  though  seeming 
but  five,  are  covered  with  purple  mist.  The  surf  is  breaking  on 
our  left:  our  horses  start  with  a  snort  as  the  sharp  reports  come. 
There  has  been  a  storm  at  sea.  The  steep  mountains  on  our  right, 
leaving  only  a  narrow  ledge  for  the  road  and  a  few  scattered  farms, 
are  bright  with  sunset :  where  canons  cut  into  them,  they  are  pur- 
ple and  sombre  in  shadow. 

We  ride  still  without  a  word.  My  fresh  horse  plunges  and  cara- 
coles with  excitement:  he  dashes  ahead  of  the  rest,  he  comes 
down  stiff-legged.  But  I  am  not  the  greenhorn  that  I  was  six 
months  ago. 

Ha!  the  smoke  of  a  small  steamer  on  the  southern  horizon, 
Steaming  for  Santa  Barbara!  Don  Jose  looks  anxiously  at  it.  The 
flight  of  the  villains  is  well  timed.  If  they  can  reach  the  town,  am! 
take  passage  on  this  steamer,  who  knows  where  they  may  go? 

But  can  they?  Shall  we  allow  them?  I  tell  you,  Tom,  it  was 
worth  a  whole  lifetime  to  be  riding  along  the  beach  that  day,  with 
those  three  fellows,  never  saying  a  word,  but  riding  as  if  their  lives 
depended  on  it;  the  young  Don  glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
approaching  steamer,  all  three  leaning  forward  lightly  in  their  sad 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  427 

dies  and  riding  like  centaurs!  I  never  knew  any  thing  like  it 
before :  I  never  expect  to  know  any  thing  like  it  again. 

Five  miles  out,  and  we  stop  and  cinch  up.  Steamer  or  no 
Bteamer,  we  must  not  kill  our  horses,  or  be  left  on  the  sand  from 
<\  shifting  cinch.  We  dismount,  and  throw  off  our  saddles  again. 
It  was  a  picturesque  sight,  as  the  men  were  walking  their  animals 
up  and  down  the  beach,  —  the  sea  and  the  streaming  sunset  be- 
hind them,  this  white  floor  at  their  feet,  their  horses,  with  drooped 
heads  and  heaving  sides,  walking  by  them. 

Up  and  away  again,  riding  with  fresh  energy,  your  humble  ser- 
vant beginning  to  feel  that  he  cannot  last  many  hours  at  this  pace, 
and  wishing  that  his  palomino  would  not  dance  quite  so  much. 
But  I  would  have  died  before  I  would  have  given  up,  Tom,  though 
I  began  to  feel  very  light  about  the  head,  and  sore  all  over.  With- 
out the  light  meal  at  the  Figueroas',  I  would  have  been  off  my 
horse  long  ago.  It  is  terribly  wearing,  this  continual  gallop ! 

I  felt  as  you  say  you  did,  when  you  were  saving  Miss  Darby  iu 
Fresh  Pond,  you  know,  Tom.  I  was  bound  to  hold  on  till  I 
dropped  off ;  and,  when  I  thought  of  you  fellows,  I  tell  you  I  felt 
freshened  up  amazingly,  and  as  good  as  any  of  them.  How  I 
thought  of  you,  my  dear  Tom!  And  how  you  would  have  enjoyed 
being  with  us !  The  sun  is  down,  and  the  short  California  twilight 
merging  into  darkness. 

We  have  passed  several  headlands.  Don  Yallejo  looks  inquir- 
ingly at  me.  I  suppose  I  looked  pretty  well  used  up,  but  I  an- 
swered, as  cheerfully  as  possible,  that  I  was  good  for  fifty  miles 
yet.  But,  Lord,  how  I  lied !  And  if  I  was  tired,  how  much  more 
so  must  be  that  delicate  Senorita,  bound  to  her  horse,  and  being 
driven  roughly  all  this  way  to  —  what  ?  Some  such  idea  seemed 
to  pass  through  the  young  Don's  head  and  mine  at  once,  as  he 
looked  at  me  and  I  answered  his  look;  for  he  smiled, — oh,  such 
a  sad,  unhappy  smile!  —  and  dug  his  spurs  hi  to  his  horse:  we  fol- 
lowed him  at  a  keener  jump. 

It  was  quite  dark,  we  could  no  longer  distinguish  the  horse- 
tracks,  the  smoke  of  the  steamer  was  entirely  out  of  sight,  when 
we  dashed  up  to  the  little  stage-station  at  a  place  called  Rincon. 
A  man  came  running  towards  us  as  we  neared  the  low  house.  We 
pulled  our  pistols;  and  Juan  was  on  the  point  of  firing,  when  the 
man  raised  his  hand,  and  we  found  him  to  be  the  stage-man  in 
charge,  McCloskey  by  name. 

He  spoke  hurriedly  in  Spanish.  Juan  plunged  his  spurs  into 
his  horse,  and  was  forging  ahead,  when  Don  Jose  called  him  back. 


428  HAMMERSMITH : 

A  few  words  to  his  men,  which  I  did  not  catch,  and  the  young 
Don  led  the  way  cautiously  around  the  point  on  horseback,  we 
following  him.  Not  a  hundred  paces,  and  we  dash  ahead,  as 
fast  as  our  horses  will  carry  us,  towards  the  spot  where  a  light 
Bmoke  is  rising. 

They  are  there,  —  one  man  leading  a  horse  to  the  creek,  another 
binding  a  woman  to  her  saddle  :  they  are  just  about  to  leave. 

We  almost  trample  them  under  foot.  Juan's  pistol  is  out,  and 
his  bullet  doing  its  work  with  the  man  by  the  Senorita,  in  quicker 
time  than  it  takes  to  describe  it,  -Hjhile  the  other  rascal  falls  on  his 
knees,  and  bellows  for  mercy. 

It  was  all  done  so  quickly  that  it  seemed  like  a  flash,  and  I 
never  shall  forget,  as  long  as  I  live,  the  tableau  that  the  whole 
scene  made,  as  Machado  and  I  returned  to  the  group,  after  cap- 
turing the  bellowing  fellow,  —  Juan,  great  shaggy  Juan,  with  a  red 
handkerchief  binding  his  forehead,  and  his  big  sombrero  pushed 
back  on  his  head,  standing  by  his  gray  horse,  and  looking  down 
;apon  the  man  dead  at  his  feet  (he  must  have  died  instantly) ;  the 
young  Don  and  the  Senorita  in  each  other's  arms :  the  Don's  black 
horse,  flecked  with  foam,  standing  with  drooped  head  almost  over 
the  two ;  and  the  mounting  fire  throwing  a  glow  over  the  whole, 
emphasizing  bits  of  color  here  and  there,  lighting  up  as  well  the 
crouching  prisoner  in  our  hands;  with  Machado,  my  handsome 
young  companion,  and  our  own  horses  following  us. 

I  tell  you  it  was  something  for  a  man  to  remember  for  a  life- 
tune,  Tom ;  and  I  had  to  think  very  hard  to  believe  myself  the 
same  fellow  that  used  to  peg  about  Milton  and  Cambridge  in 
such  a  civilized  way,  never  dreaming  that  a  little  bit  of  the  fif- 
teenth century  was  to  drop  down  before  me  some  day. 

But  if  this  all  seemed  wonderful,  and  seems  a  little  apocryphal 
to  you,  (I  believe  that's  the  word,  eh?)  imagine  my  surprise,  my 
perfect  horror-stricken  surprise,  when  I  went  forward  to  look  at 
the  man  dead  at  the  feet  of  Juan,  and  found  it  was  —  Tufton! 

Tom,  I  felt  as  weak  as  a  cat  when  I  saw  him.  I  turned  pale,  I 
must  have  turned  pale ;  I  know  I  started  back  a  step ;  and  Juan 
uttered  a  grunt  of  wonder  or  surprise. 

"  You  know  him?  "  asked  the  Don. 

"No,  yes,"  I  answered;  and  Juan,  who  knew  enough  English 
to  understand  what  was  said,  uttered  another  suspicious  grunt, 
and  eyed  me  narrowly;  the  Don,  too,  did  not  appear  to  appreciate 
the  fact  of  my  being  at  all  acquainted  with  the  villain  who  had 
run  away  with  his  fiancee,  and  whom  we  had  been  chasing  all 
day  over  the  plains  and  shore. 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  429 

I  didn't  like  the  situation,  I  assure  you.  WTiat  was  I  to  sny? 
How  were  they  likely  to  receive  what  I  had  said?  How  Tere  they 
likely  to  look  upon  me,  who  had  confessed  that  I  knew  the  man 
lying  dead  in  his  own  blood? 

There  was  nothing  else  to  be  done.  I  explained  to  the  young 
Don,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  that  I  had  known  Tuft  OH  in  the 
east,  at  college  (the  Don  smiled);  that  he  had  cruelly  injured  a 
dear  friend  of  mine  (that's  you,  old  boy);  had  fled  in  very  much 
the  same  way  as  this,  and  that  I  had  quite  unexpectedly  come 
across  him  again  in  Los  Angeles.  The  Don  received  it  with  the 
politest  attention,  apologized  for  seeming  to  notice  the  fact  of  my 
showing  surprise  at  the  sight  of  the  man,  and  explained  my  words 
to  the  rest;  Juan  answering  with  his  usual  grunt  and  mutter,  the 
Senorita  putting  out  her  small  hand  to  me,  and  saying  in  the 
sweetest  voice  that  I  ever  heard,  Tom,  "  Hill  yracia.fi,  Senor,"  and 
something  more  that  I  could  not  understand. 

I  stammered  and  bowed,  and  thought  what  a  fool  I  was  before 
young  women,  and  how  much  better  you  would  have  behaved  in 
the  emergency  (only  I'm  glad  it  was  not  you).  And  soon  the  Don 
lifted  the  young  Senorita  into  his  saddle,  and  we  followed  with 
the  horses  and  the  prisoner. 

Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  old  boy,  Tufton  was  buried 
not  far  from  the  spot  where  he  fell.  I  spare  you  details ;  but  it 
was  simply  horrible,  the  manner  of  his  death.  I  put,  a  simple 
little  board  at  his  grave,  with  his  name  on  it.  Juan  was  sent 
back  immediately  to  carry  word  to  the  people  below  of  the  cap- 
ture. We  spent  the  night  at  the  stage-station;  and  the  next 
morning  we  separated,  Machado  driving  the  prisoner  before  him. 
on  his  horse,  — he  was  a  Mexican  of  the  lowest  type,  and  had  had 
some  trouble  with  old  Machado,  I  believe,  — the  young  Don  and 
the  Senorita  galloping  oil  on  fresh  horses,  and  your  humble  ser- 
vant coming  up  to  Santa  Barbara  astride  of  the  noblest  animrJ  I 
ever  mounted,  my  dear  boy,  — the  Don's  glorious  black,  which  he 
pressed  upon  me,  and  which  I  had  already  coveted.  Machado 
joins  me  here  to-morrow.  I  came  up  here  in  order  to  present  uiv 
letter  to  Judge  Hewett,  the  only  Harvard  man  here,  but  find  him 
out  of  town. 

DiJL  you  know  that  many  of  the  high-bred  Castilians  are 
purest  blondes,  Tom?  —  fair  hair,  blue  eyes,  and,  oh!  such  com- 
plexions! Fact;  and  I  own  I  was  vastly  surprised  to  find  that  the 
Senorita  was  of  this  type  when  Simmons  and  I  made  our  first 


430  HAMMERSMITH : 

call  at  the  Camulos.  You  can  imagine  what  a  striking  picture 
the  two  must  make  together,  —  she,  with  her  fair  hair,  blue  eyes. 
and  cheeks  showing  just  a  faint  blush  continually;  the  young 
Don,  with  hair,  eyes,  and  mustaches  black  as  night,  and  suck  a 
way  of  flashing  upon  you  in  surprise  or  anger ! 

I  can  imagine  that  this  news  will  create  not  a  little  surprise 
among  the  fellows  in  Cambridge, — to  whom  make  my  kindest 
remembrances,  —  and  yet  I  fear  that  you  will  be  putting  me  down 
as  a  confirmed  romancer,  like  Kuddiman,  our  old  crony,  and  your 
present  bete  noire.  It  is  too  true,  too  true,  my  dear  fellow ;  and 
for  proof  I  can  show  you  Tuf ton's  seal-ring  (which  you  of  course 
remember,  —  the  one  with  the  sphinx  cut  in  it),  which  I  thought 
I  might  as  well  take  as  to  leave  it  for  Juan  and  the  rest.  I  saw 
that  nothing  else  was  removed.  Poor  fellow!  I  thank  God  that 
it  was  Juan's  bullet,  and  not  mine! 

I  am  stopping  with  the  Micheltorrenas,  the  swell  Spanish 
family  in  town;  and  I  shall  describe  their  picturesque  though 
rather  slow  modes  of  life  next  time.  Young  Machado  gave  me  a 
line  to  them  when  I  left  him  at  Eincon ;  and  they  are  treating 
me  as  though  I  were  one  of  the  royal  family.  My  noble  steed, 
Don  Sebastian,  I  can  see  tethered  in  a  neighboring  field  ;  a  young 
Micheltorrena  is  singing  a  jolly  little  Spanish  song  to  her  guitar 
in  the  corridor  by  the  court-yard ;  and  if  I  only  had  some  such 
sympathetic  fellow  as  you,  Tom,  to  talk  to,  and  receive  my  enthu- 
siasm over  the  life  and  the  country  out  here,  I  should  be  quite 
happy.  I  have  not  yet  delivered  my  letter  to  Judge  Hewett,  as 
I  believe  I  have  said  above. 

By-by,  then,  for  a  while,  my  dear  fellow.  Kind  regards,  as  I 
said  before,  and  for  yourself  the  undying  devotion  of 

Yours,  ever, 

PENHALLOW. 

You  might  perhaps  get  this  to  my  family,  if  you  can  conven- 
iently: it  will  save  my  writing  it  all  out  again  for  them;  and 
writing  is  such  a  bore  in  this  country,  where  every  thing  draws  a 
fellow  out  of  doors.  Don't  fail  to  keep  your  promise  about  class 
day  and  commencement.  Make  your  account  as  full  as  possible, 
and  tell  me  all  the  gossip  that  you  can  collect.  Why,  class  elec- 
tions must  have  come  off  by  this  time !  I  wonder  if  they  were 
as  stormy  as  usual.  You  must  write  me  a  full  account  of  them. 
I  wonder  what  mighty  honor  you  have  had  bestowed  on  you,  my 
boy.  They  will  have  hard  work  to  decide  which  to  give  you,  I 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  431 

fear,  you  devastating  fellow!    Perhaps  three  or  four  offices  com- 
bined.   By-by  again, 

Yours, 

PEN. 

"Talk  of  there  being  no  romance  in  the  nineteenth 
century!"  exclaimed  Ruddiman,  in  a  group  of  men 
returning  from  a  society  meeting,  this  letter  of  Hammer- 
smith's being  under  discussion.  "There's  plenty  of  it, 
if  a  man  only  knows  where  to  find  it." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Freemantle  drowsily.  "  What's  her 
name  now,  Rud?" 

"  O  gammon !  "  answered  Ruddiman,  "  I  wasn't  think- 
ing of  myself." 

"  No :  somebody  else,  of  course.  It's  very  necessary, 
somebody  else,  if  a  man  would  have  a  romance,"  put  in 
Albemarle. 

"  Some  men  don't  appreciate  any  thing  of  the  kind 
till  it's  shoved  down  their  throats,"  retorted  Ruddiman, 
the  quickly  appreciating. 

"  And  some  men  go  about  with  their  mouths  open  pe- 
rennially, in  hopes  something  of  the  kind  will  drop  into 
them,"  added  Pinckney.  "  But  never  despair,  Rud.  Tour 
turn  will  come  some  day ;  and  you'll  perhaps  be  able  to 
rescue  a  Senorita,  or  a  '  goody,'  or  some  other  fair  creature, 
as  well  as  Penhallow.  By  Jove,  but  I  should  like  to  have 
been  on  that  ride  of  his  !  Mighty  exciting  it  must  have 
been  —  eh,  fellows?"  And  the  fellows  thought  it  was, 
and  all  coUege  thought  it  was.  It  was  talked  about,  and 
gossiped  about ;  and  Hammersmith's  former  history  was 
again  brought  forward  for  discussion.  Would  the  Tuft  on 
imbroglio  never  be  entirely  forgotten  ?  Would  he  never 
hear  the  last  of  it  ?  The  tragic  end  of  poor  Tuftc  n,  too, 
who  had  figured  so  in  Cambridge  not  many  years  ago, 
made  a  profound  sensation  among  the  people  who  had 
known  him  in  all  his  splendor,  and  through  the  halls 
w/iere  his  sleek  presence  was  so  well  remembered. 


432  HAMMERSMITH : 

How  it  should  make  a  man  pause  and  deliberate  in  his 
voyage  through  life,  — the  thought  of  the  resurgent  mem- 
ories and  bitter  castaway  facts  that  will  rise  continually 
from  out  the  wreck  of  the  past,  whether  he  will  or  not ! 
How  they  return  to  strew  the  fair  shore  of  the  present 
with 'ocean-spume  and  mocking  faces  that  make  one  shud- 
der at  their  swift  re-appearance  !  Small  wonder  that  Cir- 
cumspection puts  on  its  glasses  more  and  more,  as  men 
advance  in  years,  when  every  thought,  every  new  rela- 
tion, every  change  of  residence,  every  casual  acquaint- 
ance even,  is  known  to  hold  the  possibility  of  a  life-long 
experience,  a  memor}r  that  can  never  quite  die  out,  bind- 
ing arms  that  never  lose  their  hold,  but,  free  as  you  think 
you  are,  pull  you  back  remorselessly  into  the  dark  caverns 
of  the  past,  set  with  waning  lights. 

Hammersmith  could  not  but  be  powerfully  affected  by 
this  descriptive  and  dramatic  letter  of  Penhallow's,  this 
tragic  death  of  the  man  who  had  done  so  much  to  imbit- 
ter  his  earty  college-life,  sowing  thoughts  and  suspicions 
in  his  mind  that  could  never  be  quite  rooted  out.  He  did 
not  make  a  display  of  passing  the  letter  about :  it  was 
too  unhappy  an  experience,  too  sad  a  death,  to  dwell 
upon.  He  showed  it  to  Goldie,  Pinckney,  and  one  or  two 
others :  he  would  have  liked  to  show  it  to  Breese ;  but 
he  could  never  speak  to  him  again.  That  was  all  that  he 
ever  thought  nowadays  of  his  relation  to  Breese :  every 
thing  was  over ;  there  was  an  end  of  it.  A  Hammer- 
smith does  not  go  about  reviving  dead  friendships,  mak- 
ing apologies-,  retracting  words  that  have  been  said,  what- 
ever their  effect.  He  would  never  have  another  word 
with  him,  unless,  indeed,  his  official  relation  to  Breese  as 
chief  marshal  on  class  day  should  require.  How  little 
an}7  of  them  knew,  even  yet,  what  was  in  store  for  them ! 

Such  an  adventure,  such  news,  however,  could  not 
remain  secret,  much  as  Hammersmith  might  desire 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  433 

Well  as  his  troubles  were  known  to  have  resulted  from 
association  with  this  same  Tufton,  well  as  his  hatred  of 
gossip  was  understood,  poor  Tom  was  subjected  to  a 
thousand  questions,  a  thousand  light  exclamations  from 
fair  friends  in  Boston  and  Cambridge,  and  appreciated,  as 
lie  never  had  done  before,  how  indissolubly  linked  all 
one's  acts  and  experiences  are  one  with  the  other,  alas 
for  unhappy  man ! 

"  You  are  very  kind  never  to  have  said  a  word  about 
this  Tuftou  news,  Miss  Darby,"  said  Hammersmith  at  a 
musical  party  at  Mrs.  Fayerweather's  in  early  spring. 
"  Have  j'ou  heard  it?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  of  it,"  she  answered.  "  But  I  thought 
you  were  probably  bored  to  death  already  about  it ;  and  I 
knew  it  could  not  be  a  pleasant  memory  for  you." 

"  I  wish  others  were  as  considerate,"  said  Hammer- 
smith. "  Penhallow  seems  to  have  had  a  very  exciting 
time  of  it, — his  young  Don,  and  the  Senorita,  and  the 
rest.  California  must  have  a  very  stimulating  effect  on 
the  imagination,  don't  you  think?  " 

"Perhaps  so.  I've  been  reading  a  good  deal  about 
California  lately,  —  every  thing  that  I  can  lay  hands  on ; 
but  there's  so  little  written  about  it !  almost  nothing. 
Life  must  be  very  delightful  out  there,  especially  where 
Mr.  Penhallow  is.  The  climate  is  perfect,  I  understand, 
and  every  ihing  must  be  so  fresh  and  novel !  Here,  ah, 
how  commonplace  every  thing  is !  I  had  almost  said, 
everybody.  You  can  always  tell  beforehand  what  any 
one  is  going  to  say  to  you.  You  can  always  tell  what 
you're  going  to  do  from  day  to  day.  It  must  be  fasci- 
nating to  live  such  a  wild  life.  If  I  were  a  man,  I  would 
never  be  content  till  I  could  strike  out  in  some  new  land, 
with  even*  thing  untamed  and  strange  about  me.  I  hate 
all  this  tiresome  life  !  I  hate  people  so !  " 

"  Why,  Miss  Darby!"    Hammersmith  began;  and  no 


434  HAMMEKSMITH : 

one  can  tell  how  the  world's  history  might  have  been 
altered,  from  that  evening  on,  if  Mr.  Beauclerk,  a  young 
English  tutor  just  arrived  in  Cambridge,  had  not  come  up 
to  summon  Miss  Darby  to  the  piano,  where  she  was 
needed  in  a  trio,  and  prevented  Hammersmith  from  finish- 
ing his  sentence. 

He  had  no  opportunity  of  uninterrupted  conversation 
with  her  again  that  evening.  Before  another  occasion 
offered,  while  he  was  still,  in  moments  of  reflection,  pon- 
dering and  wondering  over  that  frank  speech  of  hers,  and 
the  mood  that  could  have  allowed  it,  events  transpired 
which  in  a  measure  explained  it,  — events  which  not  only 
explained  it,  but  made  Mr.  Tom's  own  course  more  easy 
and  more  difficult  at  the  same  time. 


HIS  HABVABD  DAYS.  435 


CHAPTER  XXVH. 

WAR-NOTES   AND   OTHER   SURPRISES. 

"A  blow  from  the  hand  of  ier  we  love  is  as  sweet  as  raisias." —  AKABIO 
PROVEBB. 

"  Eo,  neque  ut  noctu  iter  facientes  infesten, 
Bed  amo ;  pulcrum  autem  est  amantcrn  in  amore  adjuvare."  —  BiOK. 

Ql  TUDENTS  had  been  leaving  for  the  seat  of  war  in 
^-^  the  South  for  many  months  now,  bidding  good-by 
to  the  peaceful  scenes  where  their  young  lives  had  been 
nurtured. 

Pinckney,  chivalric  Pinckney,  Trimble,  many  Southern- 
ers from  the  different  schools  of  the  university,  had  long 
ago  left,  to  cast  their  lot  with  their  families  and  their  kin- 
dred. Breese,  Goldie,  Curtis,  very  many  of  Hammer- 
smith's class,  were  going  or  about  to  go ;  and  Tom  him- 
self, eager,  impetuous  Tom,  would  have  been  among  the 
foremost  to  set  out,  months  ago,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
extremely  delicate  state  of  his  mother's  health,  of  which 
his  sweet  3roung  sister  Mabel  kept  him  duly  informed. 

"  Do  not  imagine  that  she  is  worse  than  she  is,  dear 
Tom,"  Miss  Mabel  had  written  in  one  of  her  letters.  "  I 
have  no  doubt  she  will  be  quite  strong  again  by  your  class- 
ilaj*.  She  talks  of  you  very,  very  often,  hopes  you  are 
going  to  graduate  with  high  honors  in  your  class  ;  and  I 
beg  you,  Tom,  as  you  love  her,  not  to  think  of  going  off 
at  present.  If  the  war  is  not  over  when  you  graduate, 
us  we  confidently  hope  it  may  be,  perhaps  she  may  feel 
.  'lifferently ;  and  I  am  sure  she  will  be  stronger,  and  better 

le  to  bear  your  going. 


436  HAMMERSMITH : 

u  I  am  coming  on  to  Miss  Darby's  in  the  end  of  May. 
dear  Tom  :  are  you  glad?  Mother  is  to  stay  at  auntie's 
till  your  class-day  week  (that  is,  if  she  is  well  enough ; 
of  course  I  shall  not  leave  her  if  she  is  not)  ;  and  uncle 
Gayton  is  to  come  on  and  get  her  in  time  for  the  great 
day.  Oh,  what  a  nice  time  we  shall  have,  Tom  dear !  " 

It  was  while  returning  from  a  large  mass-meeting  of  the 
citizens  of  Cambridge,  where  impassioned  speeches  had 
been  made,  and  the  war-spirit  aroused  to  an  extraordi- 
nary degree,  that  Hammersmith,  his  mind  full  of  the  elo- 
quence that  he  had  just  heard,  and  yet  busy  with  the 
thought  of  this  anxious  news  from  home,  was  overtaken 
and  passed  b}T  Breese,  walking  rapidly,  as  usual. 

Breese  turned  after  passing,  and  waited  for  Tom  to 
come  up.  He  did  not  hold  out  his  hand,  but  said  quiet- 

ly,- 

"Hammersmith,  perhaps  I'm  committing  an  imperti- 
nence ;  but  this  is  not  a  time  for  small  feelings  to  separate 
people.  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  May  I  walk  with  you? 
Will  you  come  up  to  my  rooms  ?  ' ' 

"As  you  will,"  answered  Hammersmith;  and  they 
walked  in  silence  to  Breese's  quarters,  —  Hammersmith 
much  softened  in  spirit  by  the  news  from  home,  the  ex- 
citement roused  by  the  evening's  speeches,  and  the  fcel- 
.ng,  that,  anxious  as  he  might  be  to  go  to  the  war,  his  duty 
to  Ms  mother  required  that  he  should  abandon  the  idea, 
for  the  present  at  least,  and  see  his  friends  depart  without 
him ;  Breese  quiet  and  subdued  from  quite  a  different 
reason,  and  from  the  effect  of  a  sudden  resolve  that  he  had 
made  that  very  evening,  at  the  meeting. 

"Hammersmith,"  said  Breese,  when  they  had  entered 
his  rooms, — the  first  time  for  Tom  since  their  midnight 
quarrel,  —  "I'm  going  to  the  war  on  Monday,  and  .1 
couldn't  go  without  seeing  you  again." 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  437 

"By  Jove  !  I  wish  I  might  say  the  same :  [  widi  I  were 
going!"  responded  Hammersmith  energetically ;  and  he 
explained  his  situation. 

"You  are  right,  entirely  right,"  said  Breese.  "But  I 
am  differently  situated  :  I  have  nobody  depending  on  me, 
nobody  to  care  whether  I  fall  or  not."  And  he  stopped 
a  moment,  while  Tom  looked  up  in  surprise  at  his  words. 

"Hammersmith,  if  a  man  loves  a  woman  and  can't  win 
her,  is  it  a  manly  way  to  go  moping  about,  cursing  the 
world  in  general,  and  young  women  in  particular?  " 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Tom.  "I  don't  know  what 
in  thunder  you  are  driving  at ;  but  I  don't  see  what  my 
affairs  have  got  to  do  with  your  going  to  the  war; 
and  "  — 

"  Pardon  me,  pardon  me  !  "  answered  Breese.  "I'm 
talking  of  myself,  I'm  talking  of  myself,  Hammersmith. 
Don't  think  that  I  would  be  guilty  of  such  an  impertinence 
as  alluding  to  affairs  of  your  own  in  this  connection !  I 
mean  myself;  and  that's  what  I  want  to  tell  you  about. 
I  am  not  engaged  to  Miss  Darby,  Hammersmith.  I  never 
have  been,  and  I  now  never  expect  to  be." 

"  Thunder !  "  was  Tom's  only  answer. 

"You  may  well  say  so,"  said  Breese.  "Probably 
more  people  than  j-ourself  would  say  the  same,  with  a 
different  exclamation  perhaps.  But  it  is  not  my  fault  or 
hers  that  reports  of  our  engagement  have  gotten  about. 

"Now,  Hammersmith,  you  and  I  are  not  the  men  to 
whine  about  our  misfortunes.  I  know  that  well  enough. 
You  know  it  well  enough.  So  that  I've  not  asked  you 
up  here  for  the  purpose  of  pouring  my  sorrows  into 
your  ear,  as  I  understand  Euddiman  is  in  the  habit  of 
doing ; '  — 

"  Oh,  hang  Ruddiman !  "  said  Tom. 

"  Yes,  3'es,  hang  him,  say  I !  Nor  have  I  any  apology 
to  make  for  any  words  that  I  may  have  spoken  to  you  in 


438  HAMMEKSMITH : 

tLis  room  several  months  ago.  I  do  not  ask  you.  for  anj 
apology :  I  do  not  propose  to  make  any  apology  nryself 
But  I  have  been  thinking,  all  these  weeks,  over  that  mis- 
erable evening's  work  ;  and  I'm  convinced  not  only  that 
you  received  a  wrong  impression  from  my  words  at  the 
time,  but  that  I  would  be  a  mean  coward  and  a  sneak,  if 
I  went  off  to  the  war,  and  did  not  try  to  undo  their  ill 
effect,  —  to  explain  to  you  how  I  spoke  as  I  did. 

"  Two  evenings  before  we  quarrelled  in  this  room,  I 
had  offered  myself  to  Miss  Darby,  and  she  had  refused 
sie. 

"I  do  not  need  to  go  back  of  that  evening,  Hammer- 
smith, in  talking  to  you,  who  know  my  college-history 
better  than  any  man  in  the  class.  You  know  that  I  would 
never  talk  to  another  man  in  all  the  world  as  I  am  talk- 
ing to  you.  I  do  not  need  to  go  back  to  those  earlier 
times,  when  we  used  to  discuss  every  thing  under  the  sun, 
and  beyond  the  sun,  or  to  say  any  thing  about  my  strict 
and  settled  views  about  various  matters. 

"  You  know  how  firm  I  was  in  my  determination  never 
to  go  into  society.  •  You  know  how  our  half-playful  dis- 
cussions on  the  subject  ended  ;  how  you  carried  the  da}- ; 
t  though  I  never  dreamed  how  it  would  all  turn  out,  Heaven 
knows  !)  how  I  went  out  again  and  again  and  again  —  and 
how  did  it  all  end?  M}-  God,  how  did  it  all  end?  "  and 
tiie  strong  man  arose,  and  paced  the  room  in  agitation ; 
ivaile  Hammersmith's  mind  was  filled  with  strange,  con- 
fusing thoughts,  — wonder,  pity,  remorse,  expectancy, 
fear. 

"Mount  Desert  came  on.  You  know  about  that,  and 
how  that  infernal  Ihitldimau  thought  fit  to  spread  a  thou- 
sand rumors  and  a  thousand  exaggerated  reports  about 
us,  —  about  Miss  Darby  and  me.  I  would  have  throttled 
him  long  ago  if  Miss  Darby  had  allowed  me,  and  if  it 
would  not  liave  caused  an  unpleasant  scandal  and  pub- 
Hcitv. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  439 

"I  do  no  more  than  allude  to  these  things,  though: 
you  lu.ow  them ;  I  know  them.  You  know  that  a  young 
woman  never  once  entered  into  my  scheme  of  life  as  we 
used  to  talk  about  it ;  you  know  now  that  my  firm-set 
plans  were  all  upset,  —  that  I  loved  Miss  Darby,  struggle 
against  it  as  I  might,  and  that  I  have  failed  to  make  her 
love  me  in  return. 

"Now,  this  is  all  about  myself,  Hammersmith,  about 
my  own  personal  matters  ;  and  I  certainly  would  not  have 
asked  to  have  this  talk  with  you  if  there  were  not  some- 
thing else. 

"  I  feel  that  you  will  pardon  me,  I  know  that  you  will 
not  fly  out  at  me.  Heaven  knows  how  I  have  struggled 
with  myself  to  decide  what  was  best  to  be  done  in  this 
emergency !  If  you  knew  it,  and  how  I  hate  to  meddle 
with  other  people's  business,  you  would  appreciate  my 
motives  ;  and  I  feel  that  you  can. 

44  As  I  started  out  with  saying,  if  a  man  loves  a  woman 
truly  and  deeply,  and  fails  to  win  her,  is  he  any  thing  but 
a  weakling  to  go  about  abusing  her,  or  himself,  or  the 
universe  in  general  ?  Is  he  any  thing  but  a  coward  to  go 
and  shoot  himself,  or  butt  his  brains  out  against  a  wall  ? 

"If  he  does  that,  does  it  not  show  that  his  was  only  a 
selfish,  savage  love, — the  love  of  a  boy,  who  goes  about 
making  faces,  and  sulking,  when  a  boy-rival  cuts  him  out? 
If  a  man  really  loves  a  woman,  does  he  not  desire  her 
perfect  happiness,  her  absolute  satisfaction,  as  far  as  earth 
can  give  it  ?  I  think  so.  And  if  he  finds  at  last,  strive 
as  he  may,  that  he  is  not  the  man  to  make  her  happy,  that 
*he  looks  to  somebody  else,  ought  he  not  to  step  aside, 
and  pray  God  that  she  may  be  happy  with  that  other 
person?  I  think  so;  and  I  believe  you  think  so  too, 
Hammersmith. 

"Miss  Darby  does  not  love  me:  she  loves  you,  No, 
no :  don't  tell  me  any  thing  about  it !  I  beg,  above  all 


440  HAMMEBSMITH : 

things,  that  you  will  not  say  a  word  of  your  own  feelings 
I  would  ue  ashamed  of  myself,  if  I  brought  you  up  here 
and,  even  by  inference,  drew  your  feelings  from  you.    Be- 
lieve me,  Hammersmith,  I  am  doing  a  thing  that  cuts  me 
to  the  quick,  —  a  thing  that  Miss  Darby  herself  might 
never  forgive  me  for,  but  which,  as  I  have  asked  Heaven's 
guidance,  I  cannot  refrain  from  doing. 

"  Don't  ask  me  how  I  know  it !  I  know  that  JTOU  will 
not.  Don't  ask  me  why  we  did  not  deny  the  report  of 
our  engagement !  Both  those  are  things  very  difficult  to 
answer.  But  I  know  that  she  loves  you.  I  know  it  from 
every  word  end  look  and  action  of  hers,  when  your  name 
is  mentioned,  or  when  you  are  near  yourself.  I  knew  it 
at  the  end  of  sophomore  year,  when  I  went  to  see  her 
father  about  your  suspension." 

"  You  went  to  see  her  father !  "  said  Tom  in  surprise. 

"Yes,"  answered  Breese,  and  explained  his  connec- 
tion with  the  matter, — how  he  had  met  the  father  and 
daughter  in  the  professor's  library,  had  an  earnest  talk 
with  them  on  the  subject,  and  finally  had  gone  to  presi- 
dent Dummer  and  others  to  intercede  for  him. 

"Well,"  L-^d  Tom,  "  I  thought  I  knew  all  the  particu- 
lars of  that  affair  by  this  time  ;  but  it  seems  I  was  mis- 
taken. And  I  have  to  thank  you  again,  Breese,  as  I  do 
most  heartily."  And  Tom  wandered  back,  in  his  memoiy, 
over  the  old  imbroglio  and  Miss  Darby's  connection  with 
it,  and  all  the  little  facts  that  had  come  out  since. 

"And  about  denying  the  report  of  the  engagement," 
continued  Breese:  "you  know,  as  well  as  1,  why  she 
would  not  allow  it.  That's  one  thing  about  Miss  Darby 
that  I  never  could  quite  understand. 

"  Then  she  went  away  to  New  York  for  a  month,  after 
lhat  night  and  my  rejection  ;  and  all  this  war-fever  broke 
out ;  and  you.  deserted  Cambridge  society  almost  entirely  • 
and  so  matters  have  slipped  along  till  now. 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  441 

"  Now  do  you  see  a  little  better  how  it  all  is?  I  loved 
her  ;  I  love  her  yet,  —  God  knows  how  much !  I  desire 
her  perfect  happiness  above  any  one  thing  that  I  desire  on 
earth,  and  would  do  any  thing,  yes,  any  thing  to-day,  to 
assure  it.  She  does  not  love  me,  but  somebody  else.  I 
call  that  other  person  to  me,  swallow  my  pride,  tell  him 
what  I  know,  leave  the  rest  to  him. 

"Xow  3~ou  can  understand,  Hammersmith,  somewhat 
how  I  felt  that  evening  when  you  burst  in  upon  me  after 
your  great  day  at  cricket.  I  had  just  been  thrown  over 
b}'  her ;  my  mind  was  still  busy  with  her,  —  as  it  is  to- 
night, and  has  been  for  months,  —  and  I  could  not  bear 
the  idea  of  an}-body  taking  her  name  for  a  toast  in  so 
light  a  way." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hammersmith  ;  "  and  I  had  no  right  to  do 
it.  But  I  had  been  at  a  supper  at  Kent's  ;  I  was  flushed 
with  my  success  in  cricket :  and  the  fact  is,  I  was  desper- 
ate (if  you  must  know  it)  to  find  out  how  you  stood." 

"  "Well,  well,  it's  all  past  now,"  answered  Breese,  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand. 

"Not  all,"  said  Hammersmith;  "for  I  have  still  to 
offer  you  my  hand,  Breese,  and  ask  that  you  will  .try 
to  forget  all  that  wretched  evening's  work."  And  the  two 
men  stood  again  under  the  gaslight,  grasping  hands  this 
time  with  the  heart}'  grip  common  to  each  of  them,  and 
looking  into  each  other's  eyes  with  quite  a  different  look 
from  that  of  the  bitter  midnight  many  weeks  ago. 

Far  into  the  night,  with  the  thought  of  this  woman 
Detween  them,  they  sat.  not  alluding  again  to  the  subject, 
but  talking,  as  they  had  not  talked  for  months,  of  their  col- 
lege-life, their  future  phms  now  so  rudely  broken  m  upon, 
and  the  grand  call  that  their  country  was  making  upon 
their  manhood.  But  tb.e  thought  of  this  woman,  beloved 
of  both,  was  there  between  them  ;  and  then,  as  in  tt»3  few 
days  of  Breese's  delay  in  getting  away,  it  bound  the  twc 


442  HAMMERSMITH- 

together  in  a  manner  difficult  to  describe.  It  came  ?.* 
the  crowning  consecration  to  Breese's  self-sacrifice,  and 
was  regarded  by  Hammersmith  in  the  light  of  a  precious 
legac}',  very  pleasant  to  contemplate,  but  much  involved, 
so  foolish  and  arrogant  and  snobbish  had  he  been  for 
months,  and  so  neglectful  of  his  good  Cambridge  friends, 
— .of  none  more  so  than  of  Miss  Darby. 

So,  for  the  three  days  or  more  of  Breese's  stay,  the  two 
re-united  friends  spent  as  much  time  as  possible  together ; 
and  all  their  long  walks  and  talks  were  eloquent  of  one 
young  woman,  though  they  said  never  a  word  about  her. 

And  when,  on  Monday,  Breese  and  Farley,  Curtis  and 
Wingate  and  others,  went  off  to  the  war  in  the  same  com- 
pany, amid  the  cheers  and  blessings  of  their  classmates. 
who  had  flocked  to  Boston  in  crowds  to  see  them  start, 
Breese  seemed  to  all  the  rest  to  be  about  the  happiest  fel- 
low on  the  face  of  the  earth, — beloved  of  a  beautiful 
woman,  head  scholar  of  his  class,  and  marching  forth  to 
further  glory  among  guns  and  trumpets  and  battle-flags. 
Tom  alone  knew  what  heaviness  there  was  at  the  poor  fel- 
low's heart,  how  grandly  he  tried  to  conceal  it,  and  thank 
God  in  the  very  midst  of  his  grief.  And  Tom  went  back 
to  Cambridge,  strangely  strengthened  in  his  mind  by  the 
thought  that  the  world  contained  such  a  patient,  whole- 
souled,  noble  fellow  as  Breese,  who  could  carry  himself 
as  he  had  carried  himself  in  this  matter,  sinking  all 
thought  of  himself  in  his  great  desire  for  Miss  Darby's 
happiness,  and  daring  to  tell  the  truth  to  Hammersmith 
is  fearlessly,  with  as  much  tact,  as  he  had  done. 

When  he  was  leaving,  and  his  classmates  were  bidding 
him  hearty  good-b^ys,  he  had  alluded  for  once  only  to  the 
old  subject,  taking  Tom  aside  a  bit,  and  saying,  — 

"You  will  write  to  me  now  and  then,  Hammersmith? 
And  —  3*ou  will  tell  me  how  she  is?  an:  the  college 
news?" 


HTS   HARVARD  DAYS.  443 

"That  I  will,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Hammersmith. 
' '  Depend  upon  it !  And  I  shall  be  with  you  the  moment 
I  graduate,  if  it  is  a  possible  thing.  Jove,  how  I  wish  I 
tvere  going  now  !  " 

"  God  bless  you !  "  said  Breese  ;  and  the  drums  rolled, 
Brecse  stepped  back  into  the  ranks,  and,  with  a  tremen- 
dous chorus  of  cheers  from  the  students  at  hand,  he  was 
off,  with  his  face  to  dut}*,  his  heart  and  life  consecrated  to 
noble  daring.  And  Hammersmith  and  the  others  went 
back  to  Cambridge,  restless,  and  longing  for  their  day  of 
graduatior  to  come. 


4.44  HAMMERSMITH ' 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MISS    1>AKBT   AND   MR.    TOM   ON   THEIR   HIGH   HORSES. 

"  QUSB  secuta  sunt  defleri  magis  quum  defend!  possunt."  —  TACITUS. 

"  I  find  she  loves  him  much  because  she  hides  it : 
Love  teaches  cunning,  even  to  Innocence."  —  DRYDEN. 

"  Fooles  in  love's  colledge 
Have  farre  more  Knowledge 
To  Reade  a  woman  over 
Than  a  neate  prating  lover."  —  JOHN  LTLT,  Mother  JBombie, 

IF  there  be  any  young  readers,  any  very  young  readers, 
who  have  followed  the  biography  of  Hammersmith  as 
far  as  this,  they  will  probably  exclaim,  at  this  point  in  his 
history,  "  Now  I  hope  Hammersmith  will  not  be  foolish 
any  longer  !  Breese  is  out  of  the  way  ;  the  coast  is  clear : 
if  Mr.  Tom  loves  her,  why  doesn't  he  go  up  boldly  and 
tell  her  so?" 

Very  natural  question,  very  natural  interest  in  Ham- 
mersmith's behalf.  As  his  biographer,  permit  me  to 
thank  you  for  desiring  expedition  and  success  for  the 
young  fellow. 

But,  bless  me  !  do  we  all  march  bravely  up  and  declare 
ourselves  to  the  girls  we  love  ?  Are  we  always  sure  just 
when  we  love  them?  And  do  you  forget,  that,  for  long 
months  now,  Hammersmith  had  been  shunning  the  Cam- 
bridge social  world  with  a  remarkable  fatuity,  occasional- 
ly descending  upon  it  with  a  patronizing  air  that  was 
worse  than  absence,  and  imagining,  with  that  adorable 
perversity  of  youth  before  alluded  to,  that  he  was  utterly 
blase  and  misanthropic,  no  longer  fit  company  for  the  eu- 


HIS   HARVAKD  DAYS.  445 

thubiastic  folk  of  the  university  town?  Would  y^u  Lave 
a  man  return  to  a  young  woman  whom  he  has  treated 
with  distinguished  neglect,  and  say,  "  I  have  been  trying 
to  amuse  myself  with  the  gay  world ;  but  I  find  it's  all 
emptiness  and  mockery,  and  I  don't  seem  to  care  for  any- 
body or  anjr  thing !  I  haven't  much  spirit  or  enthusiasM 
left,  but,  such  as  I  am,  behold  me !  I  haven't  treated  you 
very  well,  to  be  sure  ;  but  you  used  to  be  my  good  friend 
in  our  younger  days,  when  we  were  both  very  verdant : 
will  you  be  something  nearer  to  me  now?"  Bless  me! 
Would  you  have  a  young  woman  subjected  to  such  an  in- 
sult as  this  ?  Would  you  have  her  treated  as  Miss  Darby 
had  been  treated  for  months,  and  expect  her  to  receive 
the  repentant  Hammersmith  with  open  arms  so  soon  as 
he  chose  to  return  to  her  ?  Heaven  forbid !  And  you  are 
vastly  mistaken  in  Miss  Darbjr,  if  you  imagine  that  she 
would  have  been  other  than  highly  incensed  at  Hammer- 
smith, or  Breese,  or  anybody,  who  should  dare  to  play 
fast  and  loose  in  such  a  way  with  her  feelings.  You  are 
vastly  mistaken  in  Hammersmith,  if  you  can  think  him 
guilty  of  such  an  impertinence. 

The  closing  weeks  of  his  college-course,  the  frequent 
meetings  of  his  classmates,  his  relation  as  chief  marshal 
to  the  various  committees  and  arrangements  incident 
to  graduation,  the  severe  class-work  preparatory  to  the 
final  examinations,  and,  above  all,  the  kindling  war -spirit 
which  drew  the  young  men  more  and  more  together  as 
the  time  for  their  own  participation  in  the  struggle  came 
near,  —  all  these  things,  as  well  as  the  startling  revelation 
of  Breese,  with,  perhaps,  a  nuance  of  disgust  at  his  O\VB 
frivolous  life  of  the  past  winter,  conspired  to  avjaot 
Hammersmith  to  Cambridge  the  more,  and  to  break  up 
the  clouds  that  had  gathered  in  his  sky. 

That  awful  official,  the  class  secretary,  was  abroad, 
requesting  his  classmates'  biographies,  their  plans  in  life, 


446  HAMMERSMITH : 

their  religious  faith,  and  every  minutest  fact  in  their  his- 
tory, from  the  size  of  their  biceps  to  the  names  of  their 
maternal  grandmothers  of  the  fiftieth  remove.  The  class- 
song,  written  by  Pinckney  —  poor  Piuckney !  —  before  he 
went  away,  was  in  active  rehearsal  in  upper  Harvard  Hall, 
whence  its  swelh'ng  chorus  came  forth  into  the  night-air 
twice  or  thrice  a  week,  adding  a  pensive  refrain  to  the 
musings  of  under-classmen  gathered  in  their  rooms  about 
the  quadrangle,  and  drawing  the  thoughts  of  the  singers 
more  and  more  to  the  final  day  of  festivity  and  college 
entertainment,  when  this  joyous  song  was  to  be  given. 
The  various  societies,  —  Hasty  Pudding,  O.  K.,  Natural 
History,  Glee  Club,  Pierian  Sodality,  tf>.  B.  K.,  and  others, 

—  various  club-tables  and  congenial  "entries"  of  men, 
the  Eleven,  the  'Varsity,  the  college-buildings,  the  faculty, 
the  doughty  "goodies  "  and  skips,  all  were  being  photo- 
graphed by  the  class  photographer.     The  class-day  com- 
mittee was  busily  engaged  preparing   for  the   abundant 
good  time  of  that  day.     Men  were  already  deciding  upon 
the  place  and  style  of  their  "spreads,"  —  some  in  sets. 
some  few  bj  themselves.     Albemarle,  who  had  been  chosen 
orator  in  Breese's  place,  was  preparing  his  class-day  ora- 
tion.    Oliver,  who  had  succeeded  Trimble  as  poet,  was 
reading  extracts  of  his  poem  occasionally  to  Hammer- 
smith and  others.     Letters  were  coming  from  Breese  and 
the  rest  at  the  seat  of  war  in  Virginia. 

How  could  Mr.  Tom,  in  the  midst  of  all  these  tender 
associations  pointing  to  their  day  of  graduation  and  the 
timu  when  they  were  to  leave  these  dear  old  scenes  forever, 

—  bow  could  he  do  other  than  forget  all  that  was  bitter 
in  the  past?  above  all,  forget  the  silly  role  that  he  had 
assumed  so  grandly  during  the  winter,  and  be  himself 
again  ?     How  could  he  fail  to  be  affected  by  all  the  crowd- 
ing thoughts  and  hopes  which   these   final  preparations 
aroused,  and  to  1'e  filled  with  infinite  tenderness  for  at 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  447 

the  old  places  and  haunts  of  the  university,  and  all  the 
people  in  any  way  pleasurably  associated  with  them? 
That  man's  spirit  must  be  indeed  bitter,  or  his  young  life 
indeed  hopeless,  who  can  be  otherwise  than  pleasantly, 
pensively,  and  regretfully  moved  by  these  closing  weeks 
of  his  college-life  which  Hammersmith  is  now  passing 
through. 

"We  have  not  the  space  to  describe  the  various  occasions 
on  which  Tom  and  Miss  Darby  were  brought  together  at 
this  period,  before  the  arrival  of  Miss  Mabel  Hammer- 
smith; how  they  rode  together  occasionally,  with  a 
strange  sort  of  silence  between  them  now  and  then ;  how 
they  talked  of  books  and  people,  the  war,  the  approach- 
ing class-day,  and  the  thousand  and  one  things  that  form 
the  subject  of  young  people's  learned  discussions ;  how 
Tom  now  and  then  accompanied  Miss  Darby  to  a  small 
children's  charity-hospital  not  far  from  Harvard  Square, 
which  Miss  Fayerweather,  Miss  Summerdale,  and  she 
were  largel}'  instrumental  in  supporting ;  and  how  pleas- 
ant it  was  to  Tom  to  feel  himself  slipping  back  to  his 
former  sensible  life,  and  intimacy  with  his  good  Cambridge 
friends. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  Miss  Darby,"  said  he  one  afternoon, 
as  they  came  out  of  the  little  hospital,  where  he  had  been 
greatly  affected  by  the  sight  of  the  patient  }*oung  sufferers, 
with  Miss  Darby  moving  among  them  like  some  divine 
messenger,  followed  continually  by  their  loving  looks,  "  I 
think  it's  wonderfully  sweet  in  you  to  give  so  much  time 
to  those  little  beggars !  I'd  no  idea  that  you  had  such 
an  arm}*  of  worshippers  ! ' 

"  No?  "  she  said.     "  It  is  the  greatest  comfort  in  the 

world !     They  are  so  sweet,  and  so  thankful  for  every  thing 

_that  is  done  for  them !     It  is  a  perfect  rest  to  go  and  see 

them.     I  sometimes  think  that  I  am  only  intended  to  take 

*  care  of  such  castaways  and  invalids  as  those.     They  seem 


448  H  VMMERSMITH: 

to  appreciate  kindness  so  much  better  than  well  people, 
don't  you  think?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Tom,  "  they  do  certainly.  I  never  saw 
such  glorified  looks  in  my  life  as  they  gave  when  you 
went  around  among  them." 

"Poor  little  innocents!  Didn't  you  enjoy  going?  A 
thought  3'ou  would.  I  really  would  find  it  hard  to  decide, 
Mr.  Hammersmith,  if  I  had  to  choose  between  the  world 
and  my  hospital :  I  enjoy  them  both.  But  the  world  is 
so  cold  and  haughty,  and  full  of  misunderstanding !  and 
my  small  people  here  are  so  different !  I  think  I  would 
choose  my  hospital,  if  I  had  to  take  one  or  the  other 
only."  Hammersmith  was  switching  trees  and  weeds  with 
his  cane  as  he  walked,  and  did  not  say  much  as  she  talked 
thus. 

The  next  day  they  were  riding  in  the  direction  of  Bel- 
mont,  Hammersmith  again  very  silent.  He  was  thinking 
what  a  mockery  life  is ;  what;  fools  men  make  of  them- 
selves ;  how  they  refuse  happiness  when  it  is  at  their 
very  threshold  ;  how  they  rush  off  into  extravagance  and 
folly,  and  try  to  imagine  themselves  very  grand  and  indif- 
ferent ;  and  how,  after  all,  they  come  back  to  the  simple 
faith  of  their  boyhood,  and,  if  they  are  not  wholly  hard- 
ened and  wholly  lost,  believe  that  the  love  of  a  good 
woman  is  of  more  worth  than  ah1  the  gay  pageants  and 
brilliant  escapades  of  Christendom  put  together.  He  was 
thinking  of  Breese,  too,  and  of  the  young  woman  by  his 
side  ;  and — weh1,  he  was  thinking  of  a  great  many  things, 
as  you  may  imagine,  this  sweet  May  afternoon. 

He  was  again  switching  the  foliage  of  the  trees  they 
passed,  this  tune  with  his  riding -stick,  when  he  broke 
out,  — 

"  Miss  Darby,  I've  been  an  awful  fool !  " 

She  turned  her  face  partly  towards  him,  and  then  looked 
straight  ahead. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  419 

'  I've  been  an  awful  fool  all  these  months,  I  say.  It's 
a  very  hard  thing  to  explain.  But,  if  I  had  not  been  so 
much,  interested  in  you,  I  would  not  have  minded  every 
little  change  so  much." 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Hammersmith,"  she 
said,  flashing  upon  him  for  an  instant,  indignant.  "  What 
change  do  you  refer  to?  " 

"Oh!  nothing  in  particular.  But,  you  see,  I'm  very 
sensitive.  I  come  of  a  sensitive  family ;  and  every  little 
thing  affects  us,  and  makes  us  fly  off  at  a  tangent." 

"But  still  I  don't  understand  you,"  she  returned. 
And  she  reined  her  horse  in  as  they  came  to  an  entrance 
to  the  Waverley  Woods.  "  I  don't  see  what  I  have  done 
to  make  3*ou  fly  off  at  a  tangent,  as  you  say."  And  she 
became  silent,  and  looked  off  into  the  grove. 

"Well,  you  know  a  fellow  often  sees  things,  or  ima- 
gines he  sees  things,  that  affect  him ;  and  yet  he  cannot 
explain  them,"  Hammersmith  continued  blindly. 

"  I  haven't  an  idea  what  you  are  talking  about,"  said 
Miss  Darby. 

"I  suppose  it  was  very  weak  in  me;  but  I  couldn't 
help  it,"  urged  Tom;  and  any  further  blind  explanation 
of  his  was  cut  off  by  Miss  Darby's  suddenly  leaping  from 
her  horse,  tying  the  reins  quickly  to  a  branch  of  a  tree, 
and  seating  herself  by  a  rock  in  the  grove  wi^eh  they  had 
entered. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  what  is  this  for?"  asked  Ham- 
mersmith, dismounting,  and  leading  his  horse  to  where 
she  sat,  whipping  the  grass  with  her  riding-whip. 

"  I  am  going  to  stay  here.  I  wish  you  would  go  on,  ' 
she  said ;  and  her  eyes  were  bright  with  rage,  and  her 
cheeks  a  bit  pale,  as  she  spoke. 

"  But  I  cannot.     What  have  I  done,  Miss  Darby?  " 

"Nothing;  but  I  wish  you  would  go."  And  she 
whipped  the  grass  again,  and  her  riding-habit,  biting  hen 
/ips  the  while. 


450  HAMMERSMITH : 

• '  I  cannot  leave  you  here :  it  would  not  be  proper. 
Believe  me,  Miss  Darby,  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  your 
feelings.  "What  have  I  said?  "  he  pleaded. 

"Nothing,  I  say.  But  I  wish  you  would  go  away." 
And  she  turned  her  angry  eyes  upon  him  again.  But, 
before  he  could  repby,  she  exclaimed  bitterly,  "That  I 
E.oould  have  come  to  this!  "  and  presently  again,  "  That 
I  should  have  come  to  this !  "  as  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"I  corf  ess  I  was  weak,"  said  Tom  again.  "I 
ought"  — 

"Yes,  you  were  weak,  weaker  than  water!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Oh  that  I  —  Mr.  Hammersmith,  will  you 
leave  me  ?  I  cannot  kear  to  have  you  here." 

"Do  you  mean  it?  " 

"I  do." 

"  How  will  it  look  for  you  to  come  riding  back  alone  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  how  it  looks  !  Why  should  I?  That  I 
should  have  come  to  this !  " 

"  Good -by,  then;"  and  Hammersmith  lifted  his  hat, 
led  his  horse  a  space  apart,  mounted,  and  rode  slowly 
away,  while  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  at  her 
feet. 

O  buds  and  flowers !  O  waving  grass,  and  sheltering 
boughs  that  looked  down  upon  the  scene  !  what  a  sad  sight 
you  saw !  Can  this  be  our  brave  Hammersmith,  mount- 
ing his  horse,  and  leaving  the  woman  that  he  loves  alone 
in  the  greenwood,  alone  with  her  bruised  thoughts,  and 
her  anger  at  the  half-way  Hammersmith  ?  AVill  he  never 
learn  a  3'oung  woman's  waj's?  Or  is  this  youngster, — 
who  can  stand  up  before  the  bowling  of  the  "  Young 
Americas,"  fight  his  way  through  a  street-mob,  and  pull 
his  heart  out  in  a  boat-race,  —  after  all,  mcrel}*  like  many 
another  young  fellow,  afraid  to  brave  the  pleasant  dangers 
of  a  young  woman,  afraid  to  behove  what  he  scarcely 
dares  hope,  and,  above  all,  unable  to  comprehend  the 


HIS  HARVABD  DAYS.  451 

ways  of  a  high-bred,  sensitive  girl,  and  her  fine  rage  a,', 
having  allowed  her  own  feelings  to  be  known,  as  Miss 
Darby  fears  that  she  has  done?  "Well,  well,  shut  up  the 
page,  and  call  him  a  very  blind  or  a  very  cowardly  young 
fellow,  but  do  not  blame  him  for  thinking  that  perhaps  he 
had  mortally  offended  her,  that  perhaps  she  had  never 
cared  a  straw  for  him,  that  perhaps  she  really  meant  in 
good  faith  that  he  should  go  away  and  not  offend  her 
further.  Overmodesty  may  be  more  of  a  failing  than  of  a 
virtue ;  but  it  is  infinitely  preferable,  I  conceive,  to  an 
overweening  Ruddiman  confidence  and  egotism. 

At  the  brow  of  a  little  hill  he  pulled  up,  and  sat  wait- 
ing on  his  horse.  Every  thing  looked  wofully  dark  and 
chilly  to  him,  though  the  sun  was  shining  bright  along  the 
road,  and  the  birds  were  singing  and  fluttering  in  the 
trees,  as  though  there  were  no  heavy-hearted  Hammer- 
smith in  existence,  sitting  there  like  a  statue,  gazing 
down  the  road. 

Presently  Miss  Darby  appeared  on  her  horse,  coming 
slowly  up  the  country  lane,  her  head  dropped  forward, 
apparently  unconscious  where  she  went.  She  started 
and  blushed,  and  then  turned  very  pale,  as  Hammersmith 
said,  — 

"Miss  Darby,  you  must  pardon  me;  but  I  could  not 
let  you  ride  back  alone.  I  will  promise  not  to  say  a 
word  ;  but  you  must  let  me  ride  back  with  you.  Will  you 
not?" 

"I  told  you  to  go  away.  You  have  not  gone,"  she 
said,  as  she  turned  her  eyes  towards  him  a  moment :  they 
were  dim  with  tears. 

"But  it  is  growing  dark.  I  cannot  let  you  go  back 
alone." 

rt  You  cannot  let  me !  "  she  said,  with  a  deep  emphasis 
i>f  scorn  and  rage  combined.  "  Well,  just  as  yon  will, 
then  ; "  and,  bey  >nd  a  word  or  two  on  indifferent  matters, 


452  HAMMERSMITH : 

not  a  word  was  spoken  on  that  longest  of  rides  that  Ham- 
mersmith had  ever  taken  in  his  life. 

They  rode  slowly;  they  were  seldom  out  of  a  walk. 
They  passed  several  people  whom  they  knew  ;  and  Ham- 
mersmith summoned  courage  to  appear  to  be  carrying  on 
an  animated  conversation  with  Miss  Darby,  to  conceal 
their  awkward,  solemn  quiet.  It  seemed  a  hundred  years 
to  Hammersmith,  and  to  Miss  Darby  as  well  I  imagine, 
before  they  reached  her  home. 

What  Hammersmith's  thoughts  were  during  this  black- 
est of  rides,  what  they  were  as  he  watched  her  averted 
face  through  it  all,  what  he  imagined  and  feared  and 
suspected,  after  he  had  left  her  at  her  gate  with  a  simple, 
"Good-by,  I  do  not  see  what  I  have  done,  Miss  Darby," 
as  well  as  during  the  two  days  before  his  sister '3  arrival, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  discover. 


HIS  HABVABD  DAYS.  453 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN   WHICH    SOME    PRETTY    BARBARIANS    INVADE    THE    QUAD- 
RANGLE. 

•'  Strepit  omnia  murmure  campus."  —  VIBGIL. 

"Nesson  maggior  dolore 
Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  fellce 
Nella  miseria." — DANTE. 

MISS  MABEL  HAMMERSMITH  arrived  in  Cam- 
bridge, radiant  as  are  all  the  young  Hammersmith 
maidens.  What  freshness,  what  cloud-dispelling  sunshine, 
she  brought ! 

As  many  a  young  man,  in  the  midst  of  troubles  and 
boyish  mystification,  has  been  cheered  by  the  coming  of 
a  loving  3'oung  sister,  bursting  in  upon  him,  bright-eyed, 
from  the  outer  world,  unconscious  of  his  troubles,  uncon- 
scious even  of  the  cheer  that  she  brings,  so  Mr.  Tom  was 
infinitely  refreshed,  infinitely  strengthened,  by  her  sunny 
presence. 

Girls  may  be  the  most  extraordinary  creatures  in  the 
world,  as  the  ingenuous  boating-man  Goldie  had  said ; 
but  they  are  probably  the  best  of  allies  and  comforters  for 
despondent  brothers,  when  they  choose  to  be ;  which  is  a 
fact  that  Hammersmith,  most  affectionate  of  brothers,  has 
never  been  known  to  contradict. 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  be  here,  Tom  dear !  "  Miss  Mabel 

exclaimed  as  they  were  riding  past  the  college-grounds. 

"And  how  beautiful  it  all  is!     "Why,  you  have   never 

'given  us  half  of  an  idea  how  lovely  the  quadrangle  is ; 


454  HAMMERSMITH : 

you  naughty  fellow !  You've  been  too  busy  studying,  I 
suppose ;  "  and  she  gave  him  a  sly  look. 

"  Oh !  I  hate  to  write  descriptions,"  said  Tom.  "They 
never  do  justice.  And  I  knew  you  and  mother  would  be 
here  some  day  to  see  it  all  for  yourselves." 

"Who  was  that  you  just  bowed  to?"  asked  Miss 
Mabel. 

"  Tutor  Beauclerk,  a  young  Englishman  who  has  been 
here  this  year."  And  a  mere  shadow  of  a  shade  passed 
over  Mr.  Tom's  face  as  he  spoke  ;  for  Mr.  Beauclerk  was 
a  devoted  friend  of  Miss  Darby's,  and  had  been  honored 
with  a  large  share  of  Hammersmith's  gloomy  thoughts 
during  the  last  few  daj^s,  as  well  as  during  that  dismal 
return-ride  of  his  and  Miss  Darby's  from  the  Waverley 
Woods. 

"  And  the  first  thing  I  want  to  do,  Tom,  is  to  see  your 
rooms,  and  walk  all  about  Cambridge  with  you,  and  hear 
all  about  every  thing,"  Miss  Mabel  said,  as  the  coachman 
was  ordered  to  take  a  turn  about  the  Delta,  and  was  carry- 
ing them,  by  way  of  Kirkland  Street  and  the  Washington 
Elm,  to  Professor  Darby's. 

"Oh!  there's  tune  enough  for  that,"  answered  her 
brother.  "  We  don't  like  to  have  girls  running  about 
our  rooms,  and  rummaging  over  every  thing." 

" But  3'ou've  got  to  have  me,"  said  Miss  Mabel,  "and 
to-morrow  afternoon  too !  So  you  had  better  put  j-our 
rooms  in  order,  and  hide  any  thing  that  you  don't  want 
us  to  see,  you  wicked  boy !  for,  if  the  Darbys  can  come,  I 
shall  certainly  make  them." 

And,  sure  enough,  the  next  afternoon,  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Darby  and  Miss  Hammersmith,  escorted  by  Goldie  and 
Tom,  were  sailing  through  the  quadrangle,  the  young  men 
pointing  out  the  various  buildings,  the  rooms  of  distin- 
guished graduates  and  prominent  undergraduates,— theii 
own  of  course  among  the  latter,  —  the  different  recitation- 


HIS   HARVARD    BAYS.  455 

halls,  the  chapel,  the  library,  and  lifting  their  hats  again 
s,r,a  again  as  the}"  passed  professors  and  tutors,  and  envi- 
ous students,  moving  about  the  grounds.  The  3'oung  Indies 
—  or  perhaps  I  should  say  Miss  Hammersmith  —  went  off 
into  raptures  over  the  peaceful  beauty  of  the  quadrangle, 
surrounded  by  its  sombre,  solemn  halls,  recalling  an  age 
of  ulaincr,  more  solid  architecture,  and  the  air  of  quiet 
?pos«:  and  thought  which  pervaded  the  whole  place; 
which  seemed,  indeed,  to  Miss  Hammersmith,  to  cast  a 
glamour  of  greatness  and  scholarship  over  even  the  most 
rakish  swell  and  the  most  languid  dawdler  that  they  met 
in  their  ramble. 

"O  Mr.  Goldie,  what  charming  rooms!"  said  Miss 
Mabel,  as  they  entered  Goldie's  Holworthy  rooms ;  and 
she  settled  herself  into  a  window-seat  at  once,  making  a 
pretty  picture  for  a  knot  of  juniors  in  the  yard  below  on 
their  way  to  afternoon  class.  She  jumped  down,  and 
went  about  examining  the  countless  curiosities  and  knick- 
knacks  that  the  great  boating-man  had  collected  in  his 
four-years'  life  in  Cambridge. 

"What  is  this?  and  this?  and  this?  Why  doesn't 
somebody  else  talk?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Because  we're  glad  to  hear  you,  and  to  see  your  en- 
jo3Tnent,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Darby.  "Tell  her 
about  the  Prince  of  Wales'  picture,  George." 

"The  Prince  of  Wales !  Oh!  what  do  you  mean?" 
exclaimed  Miss  Mabel  excitedly,  after  the  manner  of 
young  girls  at  the  mention  of  royalty. 

"  That  picture  by  the  door,  his  photograph,  was  given 
by  the  prince  when  he  was  out  here  last  year,"  said 
Goldie. 

"  Given  to  you  !    The  Prince  of  Wales  gave  it  to  you  I  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  McGregor  had  the  rooms  then.  The  prince 
was  --nit  visiting  the  university,  and  came  up  here  to  see  a 
specimen  college-room.  He  sent  this  out  as  a  souvenir 
t/>  Mac  the  next  day.  It  is  a  transmtitendum  now." 


156  HAMMEESMITH : 

"  A  what?  "  asked  Miss  Mabel. 

"  A  transmittendum,"  said  Goldie.  "  It  goes  with  tb* 
room  ;  sent  down  from  one  fellow  to  the  other." 

"  And  you  can't  take  it  away?" 

"No." 

"I  should  steal  it  if  I  were  you,"  said  Miss  Mabel. 
"The  idea!" 

"Here's  another  transmittendum,"  added  Goldie,  tak- 
ing up  a  blackened  pipe  from  the  mantel. 

"What  a  horrid  dirty  thing!"  said  Miss  Hammer- 
smith. "  How  can  you  keep  it !" 

"  Custom,"  answered  Goldie. 

"  They  do  almost  any  thing  in  the  name  of  custom  here, 
my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Darby.  "  You'll  see  some  very  odd 
customs  on  class-day." 

"  And  what's  that  little  badge?  "  Miss  Mabel  asked. 

"  Pudding  badge,"  answered  Goldie. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  she,  her  thoughts  flying  to  kitch- 
ens and  culinary  matters. 

"My  Hasty  Pudding  Club  badge,"  said  Goldie,  and 
explained  the  name  and  the  origin  of  the  badge  as  well 
as  he  was  allowed  to  do  by  the  awful  authorities  of  the 
club. 

"  Have  you  one,  Tom?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  answered  he.  "  Let's  go  to  my  rooms,  if  you 
insist  on  seeing  them." 

The  door  had  been  opened  many  times  during  this 
short  visit  of  the  ladies,  —  sometimes  after  a  preliminary 
knock  and  a  "Come  in"  from  Goldie;  oftener  without 
any  announcement  except  the  rapid  running  up  stairs  of 
the  men,  who  came  bursting  into  the  room,  unconscious 
of  the  visitors.  The  intruders  invariably  lifted  their  hats, 
with  a  "Beg  pardon,"  or  "  I'll  call  again,  George,"  and 
vanished  into  the  entry;  till  a  certain  caller — who  an- 
nounced his  approach  by  a  species  of  musical  gymnastics 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  457 

called  by  himself  singing,  though  the  air  was  quite  un- 
discovered by  his  hearers  —  kicked  at  the  door,  by  way 
of  accompaniment,  for  a  moment,  and  came  singing  into 
the  room,  radiant  in  summer  finery. 

"  I  beg  pardon.  — Wiry,  Miss  Mabel,  you  here  !  Glad 
lo  see  you  in  Cambridge." 

"  How  do  }-ou  do,  Mr.  Ruddiman?  " 

"  How  d'ye  do,  ladies,  how  do?  Excuse  my  yelling  in 
the  entry.  Practising  the  class-song,  you  know,"  said 
Ruddiman. 

"It's  a  pretty  air,"  answered  Miss  Hammersmith. 
"You've  improved  a  great  deal,  Mr.  Ruddiman." 

"Improved!     Ah"  — 

"  In  singing,"  added  Miss  Mabel. 

"Yes,  just  so,"  said  Ruddiman  the  relieved ;  and,  as 
Hammersmith  suggested  going  over  to  his  rooms,  Ruddi- 
man added,  "  Looking  at  rooms?  Wiry  shouldn't  you 
come  round  and  look  in  upon  my  den?  Proud  to  see 
3Tou !  Say  you  will?  Good:  I'll  just  run  round,  and 
see  that  it's  all  right.  Left  a  crowd  of  men  there  using 
my  ponies." 

"  Using  what?  "  asked  Miss  Mabel. 

"My  ponies,  classical  books,  ahem!  No,  transla- 
tions, Miss  Mabel,  my  translations.  Have  to  use  'em 
now  and  then.  Greek  and  Latin  awfully  hard  this  term ! 
By -by,  then,  for  a  while.  You'll  come?  —  You  will  make 
them  come,  Tom?"  Hammersmith  nodded;  and  the 
lively  3'oung  man  ran  off,  and  ejected  his  po  ivy-friends, 
t  brew  a  number  of  3'cllow-covered  novels  into  the  coat  • 
closet,  tossed  some  Greek  books  carelessly  on  the  table  in 
their  place,  took  down  a  picture  or  two,  and  shoved  thern 
under  his  bed  ;  and  presently  the  visitors  were  upon  him 
.-  "Excuse  disorder!  Fellows  have  been  running  not 
Jicre  all  da}-,"  said  Ruddiman. 

"No  apology  is   needed,  Mr.    Ruddiman,"    answc  -ed 


458  HAMMERSMITH: 

Miss  Darby:  "your  rooms  are  very  pretty  and  cheer- 
ful." 

"Yes,  very  cheerful;  can't  study  in  a  dark,  dingy 
room,"  added  Ruddiman. 

"  It  must  be  very  nice  to  be  able  to  study  and  study  all 
the  time  in  such  lovely  rooms  !  ' '  said  Miss  Hammersmith, 

"Yes,  uncommon,"  answered  Ruddiman,  who  was 
accustomed  to  avail  himself  of  that  charming  privilege 
quite  sparingly,  out  of  respect  to  maternal  solicitude  ;  and 
presently  Miss  Hammersmith  was  peeping  into  his  pretty 
bedroom,  and  saying,  — 

"  Oh,  how  very  nice !  " 

"  Don't,"  said  Tom.     "  Come  out  of  that,  Mabel !  " 

"Please,  can't  I,  Mr.  Ruddiman?  "  she  pleaded;  and 
Ruddiman  said,  — 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly ! "  and  the  ladies  went  in,  and 
stood  quite  bewildered,  looking  about  at  all  the  gay  young 
gentleman's  costly  appointments.  They  saw  many  flaming 
wall-pictures,  which  alarmed  them  not  a  little ;  and  Miss 
Mabel  spied  the  small  velvet  shrine, — which  Ruddiman 
had,  of  course,  not  removed,  — with  its  still  adored  Miss 
Malachite  in  place  ;  and  she  exclaimed,  — 

"Oh,  how  pretty,  how  very  pretty,  she  is!  Who  is 
it?" 

"A  —  a  friend  of  mine,"  answered  Ruddiman,  blush- 
ing, and  feeling  quite  proud,  and  yet  leading  the  way  to 
his  parlor. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  a  very  inconstant  man,  Mr.  Rud- 
diman." said  Miss  Mabel.  And  the  young  fellow  was 
stammering,  "No,  I'm  not!  not  a  bit  of  it!"  when 
Gcldie  cried  out,  — 

"I  say,  Kud,  what's  this  dent  in  the  wall?"  looking 
mischievous. 

"Oh!  that's  where  I  shied  a  boot  at  Waddle,  and  he 
ducked  too  quickly  fiar  me  ;  "  and  Ruddiman  was  anxious 
to  change  the  conversation.  But  Miss  Darby  said,  — 


HIS  HARVARD  DATS.  459 

u  What  in  the  world  does  he  mean,  George?  " 

"  Oh !  Rud  has  an  old  boy  that  he  calls  Waddle,  whom 
he  is  accustomed  to  pelt  in  the  morning,  when  he  comes 
in  to  light  his  fires." 

"What  for?    Is  he  very  old?  "  asked  Miss  Mabel. 

"  Oh !  just  for  fun,"  answered  Ruddiman. 

"  A  custom?  "  asked  Miss  Darby. 

"  My  custom,  yes,"  said  Ruddiman.  "  It's  such  jolly 
good  sport  to  see  the  old  fellow  dance  about  and  dodge, 
grinning  like  a  monkey !  " 

"How  cruel!"  said  Miss  Hammersmith.  "What  do 
you  throw  at  him?  " 

"  Oh !  any  thing  that's  handy,  —  books  and  pillows,  and 
boots  and  chairs,  and  such  little  things." 

"  Do  you  ever  hit  him?  " 

"Used  to  at  first,  but  he's  getting  too  spry  for  me 
now.  I  must  get  a  new  man,  who  isn't  up  to  the  game." 

"  Oh !  what  are  all  these?  "  asked  Miss  Hammersmith, 
pointing  to  the  piles  of  opera-checks,  and  spindles  of 
theatre-bills. 

"  A  few  opera-checks,  and  so  on,"  said  Ruddiman. 

"  Who  gave  them  to  you?  " 

"  Gave  them  to  me  !  Bought  'em,  I  should  say,  when 
I  went  to  the  opera !  " 

Miss  Hammersmith  was  being  wonderfully  undeceived 
as  to  the  studious  habits  of  some,  at  least,  of  the  young 
men  of  Cambridge,  and  called  Ruddiman  all  sorts  of 
funny  names  as  her  eyes  were  opened  more  and  more  bv 
the  queer  things  she  saw  in  his  rooms.  But  her  brother 
was  hurrying  her ;  and  she  had  barely  time  to  glance  at 
the  marvellous  array  of  curious  things  hung  and  plastered 
about  the  young  gentleman's  mantel  and  walls  as  they 
.moved  off  to  Hammersmith's  rooms,  where  they  went 
through  the  same  performance  of  inquiring  about  every 
thing  they  saw,  to  the  no  small  amusement  of  Mr.  Tom 
a/id  the  placid  Goldie. 


460  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  There's  your  Pudding  badge  ;  and  that's  your  scratch- 
'ace  cup  ;  and  that's  youi  spoon-oar :  you  see  I'm  already 
»iuite  learned  in  college  matters,"  said  Miss  Mai" el. 
"  But  what  are  all  these  medals  and  things?  " 

"Oh,  Glee  Club,  and  Natural  History,  and  Institute, 
and  so  on.  Here's  one  that  I  prize  as  much  as  any," 
said  Tom,  "the  </>.  B.  K. ;  just  managed  to  squeak  in 
this  term"  — 

"To  do  what?"  asked  Miss  Mabel.  "Dear  Tom, 
why  will  you  use  so  much  slang? — Mother  and  I  have 
had  the  greatest  trouble  in  deciphering  his  letters,  Mrs. 
Darby :  half  his  words  are  never  in  the  dictionary,  I  do 
assure  you !  " 

"But  you'll  find  them  mighty  good  and  expressive, 
when  you  know  them,"  said  Goldie.  "  Tom  can't  hold  a 
candle  to  some  of  the  fellows ! ' ' 

"Can't  do  what?" 

"Well,  I  don't  see  but  we  shall  have  to  taboo  slang 
while  the  ladies  are  here,  Tom,"  said  Goldie. 

"  Or  give  them  a  course  of  reading  in  '  College  Words 
and  Customs,'  "  added  Hammersmith. 

"And  what  are  these?  Oh,  how  sweet!"  said  his 
sister,  reaching  up,  and  shaking  a  mass  of  ribbons  and 
cords  and  bells,  arranged  on  a  pair  of  horns,  a  light  jangle 
following  the  movement. 

"  German  favors  ;  some  that  I've  kept,"  said  Tom. 

"  Gracious ! "  was  Miss  Mabel's  or\[y  reply  as  she 
turned,  and  gave  her  brother  a  merry  look  ;  and  she  was 
again  springing  about  the  room,  and  examining  things. 

"What  are  those?"  she  asked,  pointing  to  some 
dossed  fo.ls  and  masks  above  his  mantel-mirror. 

"A  set  of  foils  for  fencing.  And  those  are  some 
boxing-gloves  that  a  man  left  me  who  died  here  last 
year." 

"  Mr.  Ladbroke?  "  asked  Mrs.  Darby. 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  461 

'  Yes,  poor  fellow !  He  insisted  on  my  taking  them 
the  day  before  he  died.  A  very  warm-heart et I  fellow  ; 
very  sad  death,"  said  Hammersmith.  "There's  the  bat 
that  I  made  my  great  score  at  East  Cambridge  with  last 
-fall,  Miss  Darby,  in  cricket.  Did  you  hear  --f  it?  " 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "I  remember.  Mr.  Beauclerk  told 
:ne  of  it."  But  she  did  not  turn  towards  him,  continuing 
to  examine  a  number  of  invitation- cards  that  lay  about  on 
the  mantel,  glancing  furtively,  also,  at  a  glorious  photo- 
graph of  the  bare-backed  'Varsity  crew  of  last  year  that 
hung  at  one  side  of  the  mirror. 

And  so,  after  rummaging,  as  Tom  had  said  they  would 
do,  through  his  various  curiosities  and  souvenirs,  trj-ing  his 
eas3r-chairs,  and  looking  out  upon  the  quadrangle,  whose 
turf  was  like  velvet  in  these  last  days  of  the  summer 
term,  the  party  was  moving  away,  when  Miss  Hammer- 
smith, sitting  cosily  in  a  window-seat,  said,  — 

"I  do  declare!  this  is  too  beautiful  to  leave,  Mrs. 
Darby.  I  wish  girls  had  such  chances  as  these  unappre- 
ciative  boys  have !  They  would  know  how  to  improve 
their  opportunities  if  they  had." 

"Humph!"  said  her  brother.  "They'd  do  nothing 
but  spoon  with  the  professors,  and  "  — 

"  Do  what?  "  asked  Miss  Mabel. 

"A  —  what  can  you  say  for  spoon,  George?  —  You 
see,  slang :  there's  nothing  that  will  just  express  it.  Flirt, 
I  suppose,  is  nearest.  They'd  do  nothing  but  flirt  and 
gossip,  and  criticise  each  other's  bonnets  and  toggeiy," 
said  Mr.  Tom. 

"  For  shame,  Tom !  "  said  Miss  Mabel.  "  Is  that  the 
result  of  your  observation?  I'm  sorry  for  you,  if  it  is; 
for  I  am  sure  we  would  do  no  such  thing,  but  would  show 
you  that  we  are  just  as  clever  as  boys,  J"  we  only  had  tne 
chances  they  have.  Think  Df  the  way  that  girls  have  to 
'go  bobbing  about  from  one  school  to  another,  instead  of 
paying  in  one  place  long  enough  to  learn  something !  ' 


462  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  "We  must  go  now,  Miss  Mabel,  indeed  we  must," 
urged  Mrs.  Darby. 

"Oh,  please,  Mrs.  Darby!  I  want  to  lecture  Tom. 
Won't  you  let  me  stay  a  little  while?  He's  my  brother, 
you  know  ;  and  I  see  he  needs  lecturing.  He's  lived  too 
long  al  ne,  —  he's  lived  too  long  alone  here ;  and  he 
needs  a  little  stirring  up." 

In  spite  of  a  protest  of  "Oh,  nonsense!"  from  the 
young  man  in  question,  and  Mrs.  Darby's  announcement 
that  they  had  just  time  to  reach  home  before  dinner,  Miss 
Mabel  carried  her  point.  The  others  went  off.  She 
promised  to  follow  almost  immediate!}7 ;  and,  as  soon  as 
they  were  well  out  of  the  entry,  she  closed  the  door, 
turned  the  key,  took  it  out,  and  put  it  in  her  pocket. 

"What's  that  for?  What  roguery  are  you  up  to  now?" 
asked  Tom.  "  I  never  saw  a  girl  change  so  much  in  a 
year  in  all  my  life.  I  can  hardly  believe  it's  you,  after 
all,  Mab."  And  he  sat  down  on  his  table,  and  swung 
his  feet ;  while  Miss  Mabel  drew  an  easy- chair  towards 
the  door,  sat  down  facing  him,  and  said  quietly,  — 

"  No  roguery,  Tom;  but  I  want  to  know  what  it  all 
means.  What  roguery  have  you  been  committing,  you 
bad  boy?" 

"Nonsense!     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  You  can  call  it  nonsense ;  I've  no  doubt  it  is :  but 
I  shall  wait  till  you  explain  matters  and  things  entirely 
to  my  satisfaction ;  then  I  will  open  the  door.  I'm  very 
comfortable  :  I  hope  you  are.  I  shall  stay  here  till  you 
explain  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  it '  ?  " 

"Now,  Tom,  don't  be  eilly:  it  isn't  at  all  becoming. 
I'm  not  blind.  I've  been  here  a  day,  and  I  know  that 
tometldng  has  happened  :  what  is  it?  " 

•'  Has  she  been  talking  to  you?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  by  '  she,'  sir?  " 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  463 

"Oh,  come  now !  Has  Miss  Darby  been  telling  you  of 
our  quarrel?" 

"Tom,  Tom,  dear  Tom!  what  an  extraordinary  ques- 
tion !  Do  you  think  a  girl  like  Miss  Darby  could  ;  ossiblj- 
talk  about  such  a  thing?  It  is  precisely  because  she  hao 
not  mentioned  you  in  any  way  whatever  since  I  arrived, 
and  because  she  has  hardly  written  your  name  once  in 
all  the  letters  that  I've  had  from  her  for  the  last  year, 
and  because  I  happen  to  know  certain  things  that  she 
said  and  did  at  Worcester  last  year, — well,  it's  because 
of  a  good  many  things,  that  I  say  I  know  something  has 
happened.  You  know  it  too,  and  will  not  tell  me." 

"  What  did  she  say  and  do  at  Worcester  last  year?  " 
asked  Tom.  And  as  each  had  apparently  some  news  for 
the  other,  and  as  Miss  Mabel's  only  desire  was  to  tell 
Tom  what  she  knew,  provided  she  could  have  a  fair 
exchange  of  commodity,  there  was  no  great  difficulty  in 
arranging  a  barter.  So  while  Tom  kept  insisting  that  he 
would  never  tell  her  every  thing,  and  men  kept  knocking 
at  his  door,  and  going  away  disappointed,  Miss  Mabe, 
contrived  to  draw  from  him  a  pretty  full  account  of  the 
last  year's  work,  and  the  Waverle}^  Woods  finale. 

•In  return,  she  gave  him  a  minute  description  of  the  few 
days  at  Worcester  last  year,  —  Miss  Darby's  enthusiasm 
and  interest  in  a  certain  boating-man  on  the  day  of  the 
race  ;  the  pressure  of  the  hand  which  she  had  given  Miss 
Mabel  so  many  times  during  the  exciting  race  (and  which 
signifies  so  much  among  young  women)  ;  the  rosebud  by 
the  lakeside,  in  the  ball-room,  and  in  the  little  glass  after 
their  crooning  talk  that  night ;  Miss  Darby's  very,  very 
blight  inadvertence  in  the  speech  of  hers  that  evening, 
about  class-da y  ("  he — your  brother  will  be  so  glad!  ") 
r—  yes,  and  a  hundred  other  small  matters,  which  the 
young  sister  could  remember,  and  which  had  given  hei 
'  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the  world. 


464  HAMMERSMITH : 

Tom,  for  his  part,  sat  listening  to  all  that  she  said  with 
a  pleased  wonder  and  hesitating  credulit}',  hopping  down 
now  and  then  to  pace  the  room  excitedly,  occasionally 
breaking  out  with,  "  Come,  come,  Mabel,  I  tell  you  we 
must  go  !  it's  getting  very  late  !  "  and  yet  being  brought 
back  ererj'  time  to  the  discussion  by  his  imperturbable 
young  sister  sitting  quietly  in  his  easy-chair,  guarding  the 
door.  For  this  young  woman,  who  had  been  dreaming 
such  pretty  dreams  for  her  beloved  brother  ever  since  that 
festive  Worcester  day  of  last  year ;  who  had  discovered, 
as  only  young  women  can  discover,  the  secret  that  Ham- 
mersmith himself  was  not  courageous  enough  to  capture  ; 
and  who  had  gone  on  building  such  gorgeous  air-castles 
to  be  presented  to  her  brother  and  Miss  Darby  for  occu- 
pancy, —  this  little  woman  had  seen,  at  her  very  first 
arrival  in  Cambridge,  that  something  was  wrong.  She 
had  seen  that  the  foundations  of  all  her  fine  castles  were 
likely  to  be  utterly  overthrown  ;  and  she  had  feared  that  it 
was  through  some  silly  misunderstanding  or  mistake  of 
somebody,  she  could  not  guess  who.  Never  for  once  doubt- 
ing the  correctness  of  her  own  surmises  and  intuitions, 
—  what  woman  will?  —  she  set  out,  with  the  customary 
Hammersmith  perseverance,  to  investigate  the  matter  for 
herself ;  to  see  if  the  headstrong  Tom  was  not,  after  all, 
standing  at  the  door  of  his  own  castle,  and  blocking  the 
entrance  of  his  queen,  all  through  some  terrible  mistake, 
perhaps  through  some  slander  of  rival  powers. 

"Whatever  may  have  been  her  main  reason,  she  was 
bound  not  to  let  Tom  out  of  his  room  until  she  heard 
the  truth  from  him.  There  she  sat,  a  pretty  little  jailer, 
lapping  the  arm  of  the  chair  with  her  dainty  gloved  hand, 
examining  and  cross-examining  the  prisoner  at  the  bar, 
smiling  roguishly  when  he  refused  to  testify,  glancing 
unconcernedly  about  the  room  when  he  was  silent,  and 
pltogether  conducting  her  investigation  in  a  charming 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  466 

manner  quite  irresistible.  So,  at  least,  Mr.  Tom  found  it  •, 
for  the  result  of  a  very  few  minutes'  talk  was,  as  has  been 
said,  that  he  disclosed  to  his  sister  much  of  the  secret 
history  of  the  last  year,  — Breese's  reported  engagement, 
his  own  devotion  to  Boston  society,  Breese's  final  confes- 
sion to  him  before  leaving,  his  own  endeavor  to  get  back 
into  Miss  Darby's  good  graces,  his  quarrel  in  the  Waver- 
ley  Woods.  What  this  quarrel  was,  however,  just  what 
had  been  said  and  done,  he  would  not  say. 

"  No,  Mabel,  confound  it !  I  can't  tell  you  every  thing : 
that's  flat.  We  had  a  quarrel :  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 
I  don't  pretend  to  know  how  it  came  about ;  I  don't 
pretend  to  know  how  I  offended  her :  but  I  did,  and  she 
told  me  to  go  awa}-.  I  went.  And  I  confess  I  don't  know 
any  thing, — whether  she's  engaged  to  Breese,  after  all, 
or  to  Mr.  Beauclerk,  or  is  meaning  to  be  a  sister  of  chari- 
ty, or  what  ?  I  believe  young  women  were  sent  into  the 
world  to  torture  young  men,  and  were  never  meant  to  be 
consistent.  That's  my  position." 

"  But  what  did  3*ou  say?  and  what  did  she  do?  "  asked 
Miss  Mabel.  And,  after  much  hesitation-,  Tom  was  made 
to  disclose  the  purport  of  his  words  to  Miss  Darby.  Miss 
Mabel  looked  serious,  but  continued,  — 

"  And  now  what  did  she  do  ?  No  matter  what  she  s?-id : 
what  did  she  do?" 

And  when  Tom  had  explained  what  she  had  done, — how 
she  had  dismounted  from  her  horse  and  thrown  herself  on 
the  ground,  ordering  him  away ;  how  he  had  gone,  and  yet 
waited  to  escort  her  back  to  Cambridge ;  and  how  thor- 
oughly provoked  and  incensed  she  had  appeared  through 
it  all,  —  Miss  Mabel  at  length  laughed,  and  said,  — 

"  Well,  Tom,  3-011  are  the  silliest  boy  I  ever  saw  in  all 
my  life!  " 

"Why?  What  on  earth  could  she  mean,  if  she  didn't 
inean  that  I  was  to  go  away,  and  not  bother  her?  " 


4:66  HAMMEKSMITH : 

"  Mean !  Why,  she  meant  thai  you  were  cowardly  and 
weak  in  talking  to  her  as  3Tou  did.  She  meant  that  you 
were  mano3uvring  to  get  her  to  disclose  her  own  feelings, 
(as  I  believe  you.  were,  you  naughty  hoy !)  instead  of 
declaring  your  own  first,  like  a  man.  She  feared  her 
manner  had  told  you  that  she  loved  you  ;  and,  of  course, 
she  was  incensed  and  ashamed,  as  any  girl  of  spirit  would 
have  been.  She  told  you  to  go  away,  that  you  might  not 
pee  her  tears  :  that's  the  reason  she  kept  saying,  '  Oh  that 
I  should  have  come  to  this !  '  And  you  ought  to  have 
known  it,  if  you  had  not  been  as  blind  as  a  bat,  as  all 
men  are !  I  don't  blame  her  in  the  least ;  and  I  think 
you  behaved  shamefully!  " 

• '  Hang  it !  I  only  gave  her  a  chance  to  let  me  know 
if  I  was  mistaken." 

"O  Tom,  Tom,  how  silly!  how  unutterably  weak! 
Some  girls  might  take  advantage  of  such  a  chance,  as 
you  call  it !  —  what  a  way  to  put  it !  Some  girls  might 
be  willing  to  let  a  man  know  that  they  loved  him,  and 
not  be  ashamed  of  it ;  but  I'm  sure  Miss  Darby  is  not 
one  of  them.  I  know  you  would  be  as  sorry  as  any  one, 
if  you  thought  she  were.  A  girl  should  die  rather  than 
let  a  man  know  that  she  loves  him,  unless  he  tells  her  his 
own  love  first." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Tom. 

"  Of  course  you're  not,  because  you  are  weak,  as  Miss 
Darby  says,  and  don't  understand  girls.  Tom,  if  a  man 
loves  a  woman,  let  him  tell  her  so  simply,  frankly,  hon- 
estly :  if  he  does  not,  let  him  hold  his  tongue.  What 
I  want  to  impress  on  you,  in  this  case,  is  the  great  mis- 
take you  made  in  talking  to  her  of  your  feeling  for  her. 
You  have  no  right  to  talk  in  this  half-way  style  with  a 
girl,  and  then  expect  her  to  make  her  own  feelings  known 
to  you.  No  high-bred  girl  will  stand  it ;  and  it  is  un 
worthy  of  you,  Toin, — it  is  unworthy  of  you.  Imagine 


HIS    HARVARD    DAYS.  4G7 

your  friend  Breese  doing  such  a  weak  thing  as  you  have 
done  !  Didn't  }-ou  tell  me  that  he  went  bravely  up,  and 
told  her  he  loved  her,  and  then  bore  his  fate  like  a  man  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  was,  in  a  measure,  forced  to  do  it  by  the 
rumors  that  were  about,  and  were  causing  remark." 

<v  And  you  hadn't  the  courage  to  do  as  he  had  done, 
unless  3'ou  were  forced  to  it  by  some  outside  circum- 
btance?  "  asked  Miss  Mabel. 

"  Oh,  don't  put  it  in  that  way  !  "  urged  Tom.  "  I  tell 
i  ou,  Mabel,  a  great  many  things  have  happened,  that  you 
know  nothing  about,  and  that  I  can't  explain, — a  great 
many  things  in  my  life  here  in  Cambridge.  They  made 
me  suspicious  of  everybody,  —  suspicious  of  Breese,  of 
myself,  of  Miss  Darby,  everj'bod}*.  Don't  ask  me  about 
them." 

"  I've  no  idea  of  asking  you  about  them,  Tom  !  I'm 
not  going  to  bother  3-011  any  more.  I'm  going  home.  I 
have  told  you  all  that  I  know  and  believe  and  hope,  and 
I'm  very  much  disappointed  in  you.  Yes.  Tom,  you  are 
the  most  disappointing  man  I  ever  saw  !  ' ' 

"  Ho,  ho  !  What  do  you  know  about  men,  Miss  Sweet- 
Sixteen?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  need  to  be  so  very  old  to  understand 
men!  "  she  said, -bowing  her  head  several  times,  and  look- 
ing peculiarly  defiant,  with  the  jaunty  red  feather  in  her 
hat  emphasizing  her  words.  "  They  are  the  easiest  to 
read  and  understand  of  any  thing  /  ever  saw  !  And  I've 
"cad  you,  you  cowardly  boy,  and  I'm  fearfully  disappointed 
A  you !  " 

She  arose,  took  the  key  from  her  pocket,  and  was  un- 
locking the  door,  when  Tom  rushed  up  to  her,  and  put  his 
arms  ftround  her,  saying  eagerly  — 

""Well,  well,  my  little  puss,  don't  be  angry  with  me! 
I  confess  I'm  a  fool  in  these  matters,  but  I  will  not  be 
any  longer ;"  and  he  kissed  her  Then,  holding  her  at 


468  HAMMERSMITH : 

arm's-length,  he  said,  "  But  you  will  allow  that  you  aie 
all  sphinxes,  and  very  hard  to  make  out?  "  looking  down 
into  her  eyes,  and  putting  his  head  on  one  side. 

"Perhaps  we  are,"  she  said.  "But  Heaven  made  us 
so;  and  you  would  not  have  us  otherwise,  would  you? 
Come  now  !  would  you,  Tom?  Would  you  have  us  weui 
our  hearts  on  our  sleeves,  and  run  about  telling  such  silly, 
cowardly  boys  as  you,  that  we  loved  them?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not.  But  don't  you  pile  on  the  agony 
sometimes,  and  mystify  a  fellow  just  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing?" 

"  Sometimes  they  deserve  it,"  she  answered,  putting 
the  key  in  the  door. 

"I  suppose  they  do,"  he  said  ruefully,  shaking  his 
head.  He  kissed  her  again ;  and  they  went  out,  and 
walked  rapidly  to  Mrs.  Darby's. 

Tom  felt  a  bit  conscious,  as  he  passed  students  here 
and  there,  returning  from  supper.  But  Mabel  did  not 
appreciate  that  the  sight  of  a  young  woman  like  herself, 
issuing  from  the  quadrangle  at  this  time  of  the -evening, 
was  somewhat  anomalous.  She  thought  it  the  most  natu- 
ral thing  in  the  world  that  she  should  be  seen  walking 
an}rwhere  and  everywhere  with  Tom :  wasn't  he  her 
brother?  and  hadn't  she  a  right  to  take  his  arm  if  she 
chose  ?  Why  did  those  men  stare  so  ? 

' '  His  sister  ?  ' '  asked  one  man  of  another. 

"  Don't  know.  I  can't  pretend  to  keep  track  of  Ham- 
mersmith. May  be  his  sister ;  may  be  some  other  fel- 
low's." 

"  Corns  up  for  class-day,  perhaps.  A  very  clean  step- 
per." remarked  the  first  man,  }roung  Tilbury,  devoted  to 
che  turf. 

"Won't  you  come  in  to  dinner,  Mr.  Hammersmith?" 
asked  Mrs.  Darby,  as  the  two  appeared  walking  briskly  up 
the  walk. 


HIS  HABVAKD  DAYS.  169 

"No,  thanks,  Mrs.  Darby!  I've  a  committee-meeting 
to  attend  at  seven.  Gracious !  I  shall  have  hardly  time  to 
reach  it.  Sorry  I  kept  Mabel  after  your  dinner-hour: 
we  had  a  little  matter  to  talk  over." 

"  Some  other  time,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Darby. 

"  Thanks  !  "  and  he  ran  back  to  his  club-table,  took  a 
hasty  meal,  and  appeared  at  the  committee-meeting  iu 
question,  which  was  called  to  arrange  various  matters  of 
importance  in  reference  to  class-day. 


470  HAMMERSMITH : 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   WORLD   IS   SET   HUMMING  FOR   HAMMERSMITH. 

44  With  time  and  patience  the  leaf  of  the  mulberry-tree  becomes  satin." 

FROM  THE  AUABIO 

"  How,  Dearest,  wilt  thou  have  me  for  most  use? 
A  hope,  to  sing  by  gladly  ?  ...  or  a  fine 
Sad  memory,  with  thy  songs  to  interfuse? 
A  shade,  in  which  to  sing  ...  of  palm  or  pine  ? 
A  grave,  on  which  to  rest  from  singing?    Choose." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

rr^HIS  interview  with  his  persistent  little  sister  was 
J-  several  days  old,  and  Hammersmith  had  pondered 
and  speculated  on  it  with  an  effect  presently  to  be  de- 
scribed, when  he  and  Miss  Darby  were  again  on  horse- 
back, riding  together  for  the  first  time  since  that  luckless 
evening  of  two  weeks  before. 

It  was  a  silent  ride,  as  silent  almost  as  that  black 
leturn-ride  on  the  unhappy  evening  of  which  they  both 
scarcely  dared  to  think.  They  talked  somewhat,  but  of 
indifferent  matters,  chopping  off  the  heads  of  subjects, 
after  the  fashion  of  young  people,  and  avoiding,  as  if  by 
common  consent,  all  themes  that  could  in  any  way  remind 
them  by  remotest  implication  of  the  one  thing  of  which 
they  were  both  thinking. 

Hammersmith  did  not  ask  Miss  Darby  which  road  ;he 
would  take,  but  guided  the. ride  himself  in  the  direction 
of  the  same  fatal  Waverlcy  Grove. 

"  J  don't  like  to  go  in  there,  Mr.  Hammersmith,"  said 
Miss  Darby,  as  Tom  was  entering  the  wood  b}T  the  same 


HIS   HABVAKD  DAYS.  471 

narrow  opening  in  the  stone  wall;  and  she  shook  her 
head. 

"  Please,  Miss  Darby ! "  He  looked  infinitely  entreat- 
ing ;  and  she  went  in. 

They  dismounted.  Hammersmith  tied  his  own  reins  to 
the  horn  of  Miss  Darby's  saddle,  retaining  her  reins  in 
his  hand. 

"  See  !  "  he  said :  "  they  have  come  up  since  we  were 
here."  And  he  added  to  himself,  "I  hope  they  are  a 
good  omen,"  as  he  picked  a  bunch  of  violets  from  uuder 
the  edge  of  the  rock  against  wliich  Miss  Darby  had  leaned 
the  last  time  they  were  hero.  "Will  you  have  them?" 
She  put  them  in  the  bosom  of  her  riding-habit,  and  they 
sat  down. 

Silence,  broken  only  by  the  light  wind  in  the  tree-tops, 
the  chattering  of  a  couple  of  squirrels  running  along  the 
branches,  and  the  pawing  of  Hammersmith's  horse  Baldy, 
restless  as  his  master  himself  for  this  suspense  to  be  over. 

"Whoa,  Baldy!  still,  sir!"  said  Hammersmith;  and 
he  rose  and  patted  him.  He  came  back  and  sat  down. 

"  Miss  Darby,"  he  said,  "  do  you  remember  what  you 
said  the  last  day  I  went  to  your  hospital  with  you,  —  about 
the  difficult}7  you  would  have  in  choosing  between  the 
world  and  the  little  castaways,  as  you  called  them,  if  you 
had  to  make  the  choice?  " 

"  I  had  forgotten  that  I  said  that ;  but  I  meant  to  say 
that  I  love  them,  and  am  never  happier  than  when  taking 
care  of  them,"  she  answered. 

Silence  again,  which  a  careful  investigator  might  have 
di  -covered  was  just  perceptibly  broken  by  a  quicker  breath- 
ing from  Mr.  Tom,  caused  by  a  light  tattoo  under  his 
waistcoat,  most  unusual  in  the  placid  young  fellow. 

"  I  know  an  old  fellow  that's  in  a  very  bad  way,  ami 
wants  to  get  taken  care  of,"  he  added. 

"  But  we  don't  take  old  men,"  she  answered. 


i72  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  Couldn't  you  admit  just  this  one?"  he  asked.  "  It 
would  be  a  mercy,"  he  added. 

"  I'll  submit  it  to  Miss  Fayerweather  and  Miss  Sum- 
merdale,  if  you  wish,"  she  said. 

"  But  it  isn't  for  them  to  decide,"  he  said. 

"  Certainly  it  is.  I  never  decide  such  a  question 
alone." 

"  But  this  is  a  question  for  you  to  decide  alone,"  he 
said ;  and  he  called  to  his  horse  to  be  quiet. 

'l  "What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked.  "  An  old  gentle- 
man to  be  taken  in,  and  I  to  decide  it  alone !  " 

"  Young  ladies  generally  decide  such  questions  alone," 
he  said.  But  she  continued,  without  apparently  hearing 
him,  — 

' '  Who  is  he  ?    Where  is  he  ?     Is  he  very  badly  off  ?  " 

"  He's  in  a  terrible  way,  I  assure  you.  He's  in  Cam- 
bridge. No  !  —  he's  in  Belmont. ' ' 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"  He's  about  twenty-two.     Is  that  too  old?  " 

She  had  been  shaking  her  head  at  the  general  proposi- 
tion ;  and,  when  he  said  this,  she  opened  her  eyes  wide, 
and  drew  a  quick  breath,  and  presently  went  on  shaking 
her  head  again,  as  Hammersmith  continued,  — 

"It  is  not  too  old  ?  You  know  who  he  is  ?  He  loves 
you,  Miss  Darby ;  and  will  you  take  him  in?  "  he  asked, 
with  charming  ambiguity. 

Her  head  fell  forward  on  her  breast.  Then  she  lifted 
her  face  full  to  his ;  and  the  next  minute  his  arms  were 
about  her,  and  he  was  kissing  her  sweet,  warm  lips. 

Then  things  were  said,  and  things  were  done,  which  1 
am  sure  the  bending  foliage  had  never  heard  or  seen 
before.  For  the  little  leaves  that  had  so  recently  burst 
upon  the  world  shook  their  sides,  and  made  light  merri- 
ment or  light  applause  above  their  heads.  The  sun  came 
peeping  in  under  the  greenwood  with  an  envious  glance 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  473 

A-ud  the  horses,  standing  with  drooped  heads,  loose  now, 
and  free  to  run  if  they  chose,  pointed  their  ears  at  the 
pretty  scene,  adding  a  picturesqueness  of  their  own. 

O  buds  and  flowers  !  O  waving  green  banners  and  warm 
breath  of  summer  breezes,  what  a  different  sight  is  this 
to-day !  Smile,  and  kiss  your  benediction  upon  him ; 
for  he  has  had  a  hard  and  troublesome  Hammersmith 
battle  to  fight,  with  himself,  with  circumstances,  with 
other  men,  before  this  happy  day  could  come,  and  he  be 
holding  his  love  within  his  arms. 

And  presently  they  were  in  the  saddle  again,  walking 
up  the  road,  which  lay  flooded  with  sunshine. 

"Isn't  it  all  beautiful!"  said  Miss  Darby,  after  they 
had  gone  a  short  distance,  with  loose  rein,  in  silence. 

"  Isn't  it!  "  answered  Hammersmith,  and  added,  after 
a  moment,  "  If  I  had  only  known  this  all  the  Mine  !  " 

"  Known  what,  Mr.  Hammersmith?  " 

"  Mr.  Hammersmith !     Indeed !  " 

"What! — why! — oh,  I  can't,  all  at  once!  It  is  so 
sudden.  Mr. — well,  Tom,  then." 

"  Good  for  you  !  "  said  Tom.  "  Didn't  hurt  you,  did 
it,  Eh1  en?  See  how  easily  I  do  it !  " 

"  No,  but  it  seems  so  funny !  What  is  it  that  you  wish 
you  had  known  ?  ' ' 

"Why,  that  you  —  that  I  might  have  —  that  for  all 
these  months  —  oh,  you  know  what  I  mean !  "  Said  Tom. 

"  Don't  flatter  yourself,"  answered  she.  "  I  never 
cared  a  straw  for  you  till  five  minutes  ago,  you  vain  man, 
when  you  looked  so  unutterably  miserable,  begging  for 
that  poor  old  gentleman.  I  couldn't  resist  such  a  plain- 
tive appeal." 

"'Pon  honor?" 

"  Of  course  I  never  cared  any  thing  for  you  till  five 
minutes  ago.  The  idea!"  she  said.  "  Perhaps  it  is  six 
'  minutes  now !  But  do  you  know  what  I  promised  you, 
yfhat  you  asked  me  just  now?  " 


474  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  Why,  you  promised  me  that  you  —  you  said  that  you 
would  always  —  fact  is,  you  didn't  say  much  of  any 
thing,"  said  Hammersmith. 

"  You  asked  me  if  I  would  '  take  you  in.'  '  Take  you 
in  ' !  I  shall  bo  sure  to  do  it ;  and  so  you  will  have  no 
right  t  >  complain  of  any  ill  treatment  I  may  give  you, 
you  hasty  man !  No,  never  !  " 

"I  shall  never  need  to,  I'm  sure,"  he  answered,  with 
mingled  gravity  and  mirth.  "  But  I  was  using  the  meta- 
phor of  the  hospital,  and  speaking  to  you  as  a  sister  of 
charity." 

"That's  very  fine.  But  you  cannot  help  it  now:  3rou 
canio*  take  back  your  words  !  And  I  have  yowc  authori- 
ty to  take  you  in  to  my  heart's  content,"  she  said. 

"  Certainly,  to  your  heart's  content,  if  you  put  it  in 
that  way,"  replied  Tom  gleefully.  "Shall  we  have  a 
spin?" 

And  with  more  such  happy,  sentimental  badinage,  — 
which  need  not  be  set  down  in  this  place,  —  and  many 
delicious,  silent  pauses,  they  rode  home ;  Hammersmith 
thinking  of  nothing  but  this  3~oung  being  by  his  side,  who 
had  promised  to  give  her  life  into  his  keeping  ;  Miss  Darby 
in  a  strange  new  role  for  a  sister  of  charity,  riding  through 
country-lanes  with  a  knot  of  violets  on  her  bosom,  and  a 
handsome  young  student  turning  beaming  eyes  upon  her. 
And  the  young  student,  indeed,  looked  different,  far  dif- 
ferent, from  the  poor  old  gentleman  for  whom  he  had  been 
pleading,  woo  was  in  a  very  bad  wa}r,  forsooth,  and  likely 
to  die  if  be  were  not  taken  care  of. 

Heaves  send  peace  and  joy  to  them,  and  fulfilment  of 
all  their  happy  plans,  which  sprang  up  from  that  da}',  as 
the  violets  had  sprung  from  their  shady  nook  in  the  woods ! 
Heaven  speed  all  young  fellows  like  Hammersmith  in  their 
suits,  and  guide  them  to  the  proper  charitable  sister,  who 
can  set  all  the  world  humming  with  joy  for  them  b}-  a  sim- 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  475 

pie  smile  !  And  Heaven  teach  taem  to  fall  down  on  their 
knees,  and  thank  God  for  the  rarest  blessing,  the  sweetest 
consolation,  that  He  can  bestow  ! 

The  final  festivities  and  exercises  of  the  academic  year 
were  drawing  near. 

Parties  were  being  given  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  university  town,  — one  of  the  first  at  Mrs. 
Darb3r's,  where  a  bit  of  interesting  news  was  announced  ; 
and  it  would  be  a  pathetic  chi-onicle,  were  I  to  exhibit 
in  this  place  a  tenth  part  of  the  grand  vows  and  impres- 
sive sentiment  that  these  occasions  evoked  from  the  mighty 
seniors  sitting  in  tete-a-tete  with  their  fair  Cambridge 
friends. 

The  Glee  Club  concert  came  on  an  evening  or  two 
after  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Hammersmith ;  and  Hammer- 
smith brought  his  mother  and  sister,  and  Ms  brother 
Dick  (now  a  fine  young  stripling  of  seventeen  summers 
or  so) ,  with  the  entire  Darby  family,  to  enjoy  the  music 
of  this  last  appearance  of  his  with  the  dear  old  club,  — 
the  last  except  the  informal  singing  of  class-day  evening, 
and  the  various  occasions  when  he  may  return  as  a  gradu- 
ate, please  God,  to  add  his  voice  to  those  of  cordial  under- 
graduates. 

It  was  a  great  success,  this  concert.  The  dear  mother 
could  hardly  keep  from  tears  as  she  saw  her  handsome 
boy  (who  was  growing  so  like  his  poor  father  every  day) 
singing  his  ponderous  part  up  there  among  the  second 
basses,  and  smiling  down  upon  the  group  of  his  friends. 
He  came  down  in  the  intermission  and  spoke  with  them ; 
and  Miss  Mabel  exclaimed,  — 

"O  Tom,  that  was  beautiful,  that  Marschner  Sere- 
nade !  Won't  you  give  the  waltz,  if  we  encore  you?  " 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Tom,  smiling ;  and  he  leaned  ovet 
to  Miss  Darby,  who  said,  — 


476  HAMMERSMITH: 

"  You're  in  splendid  voice  to-night,  Tom.  Do  give  the 
waltz  !  It's  pretty  old,  I  know  ;  but  it's  always  good,  and 
your  mother  and  Mabel  will  like  it."  And  she  blushed 
prettily,  conscious,  no  doubt,  that  many  eyes  were  turned 
towards  her  as  she  talked  with  the  man  to  whom  she  had 
just  become  engaged.  The  second  part  began,  and  Ham- 
mersmith went  back  to  the  stage. 

The  encore  was  given,  the  applause  being  swollen  in 
no  small  measure  by  the  clamors  of  the  hearty  "  Duke," 
who  had  come  in,  and  was  seated  in  the  aisle  by  the  Ham- 
mersmiths and  Darbys ;  and  Miss  Mabel  put  her  hand 
again  into  Miss  Darby's,  as  on  the  day  of  the  Worcester 
regatta,  and  said  softly,  — 

"Dear  Ellen,  I  never  was  so  happy  in  all  my  life !  " 
How  many  happiest  days  had  she  already  had  in  her  brief 
life,  I  wonder. 

"You  will  be,  some  day,  Mabel,"  she  answered;  and 
the  two  contrasted  beauties — Miss  Darb}'  the  fair  and  the 
blue-eyed,  Miss  Hammersmith,  with  ths  dark  hair  and 
coloring  and  the  brilliant  eyes  of  her  race — made  a  pretty 
picture  to  the  young  fellows  of  the  Glee  Club  and  the  Pie- 
rian, looking  down  from  the  low  stage.  I  doubt  not  that 
not  a  few  of  them,  and  not  a  few  3'oung  and  old  boys  in 
the  audience,  regarded  Hammersmith  that  evening  with 
envious  admiration,  as  they  saw  him  singing  there  in  the 
prime  of  his  young  manhood,  honored  by  his  classmates, 
honored  more  by  the  trust  and  love  of  the  beautiful  3'oung 
creature  before  whose  lovely  eyes  he  was  singing  his  fare- 
well to  college-life. 

The  college  societies,  too,  were  giving  their  last  enter- 
tainments, holding  their  last  full  meetings  of  the  term  ; 
and  Hammersmith  was  kept  busy,  busier  than  almost  any 
one  else,  by  the  many  duties  that  his  chief  marshalship, 
and  his  general  supervision  of  class-day  arrangements, 
brought  him. 


HIS   HAH  YARD   DAYS.  477 

Hasty  Pudding  "Strawberry  Night"  and  "Seniors' 
ftencfit"  had  come  off;  and  all  the  ties  that  bound  Ham- 
mersmith and  his  friends  to  the  old  society  were  drawn 
tinner  and  closer  by  the  warm  brotherly  feeling  which 
these  gatherings  of  graduate  and  undergraduate  members 
called  forth. 

The  final  examinations  are  over,  and  the  young  men 
mentioned  in  this  chronicle  have  all  passed,  with  various 
degrees  of  honor ;  only  Ruddiman  the  bold  having  any 
great  difficulty,  which  consisted  in  his  barely  "  squeaking 
through"  in  history,  as  he  expressed  it.  Provident 
tradesmen  are  already  presenting  their  little  bills  with 
apologies,  and  their  big  bills  with  eagerness.  The  turf  in 
the  quadrangle  has  been  mowed  and  rolled  in  preparation 
for  the  class-day  dances,  till  it  is  as  smooth  as  turf  can 
be ;  kept  unmolested,  moreover,  by  means  of  numerous 
prohibitory  placards,  and  the  constant  call  of  4<  Off  the 
grass!"  from  jealous  seniors.  Under-classmen  returning 
from  the  river  and  cricket  are  regarded  by  the  great 
senior,  with  his  eyes  already  on  the  larger  field  to  which 
he  is  hastening,  as  belonging  to  a  younger  world,  a  differ- 
ent existence  from  himself.  Parents  and  friends,  gradu- 
ates and  strangers  from  a  distance,  are  already  filling  and 
overflowing  the  modest  Cambridge  accommodations.  Our 
young  friend  Malachite  —  who  has  been  forever  carrying 
about  mighty  calf  volumes  of  the  law,  and  devoting  to 
moot  courts  and  law  lectures  what  little  time  he  could 
spare  from  the  cultivation  of  a  pair  of  mustaches,  just 
visible  to  the  naked  eye  after  the  lapse  of  a  year  —  now 
bursts  forth  resplendent  for  the  gorgeous  festivities  ap- 
proaching. Local  belles,  and  those  from  a  distance  who 
propose  to  outshine  them,  and  dazzle  the  all-embracing 
.  student  eye,  have  collected  marvels  of  adornment  and 
brilliant  trapping  most  wonderful  to  behold.  Prayers  are 
offered  plentiful!}'  to  the  gods  of  the  weather  for  smiling 


478  HAMMEKSMITH: 

skies  on  the  day  of  which  all  Cambridge  is  thinking,  and 
to  which  a  hundred  men  or  more  have  been  looking  for- 
ward for  the  four  years  past. 

Oration,  poem,  ode,  class-song,  every  thing,  is  ready  for 
the  crowning  festivity  of  class-day,  —  beloved  of  students, 
a  period  of  unbounded  bliss  for  the  youth  and  maidens 
of  the  neighborhood,  a  day  .-of  unbridled  riot  for  local 
urchins  hovering  on  the  outskirts  of  feast  and  revelry. 


HIS  HABVAED  DAYS.  479 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

CLASS-DAY  AND  A  TALK  OF  SFURS. 

"  Annie  of  Tharaw,  my  true  love  of  old, 
She  Is  my  life,  and  my  goods,  and  my  gold." 

LONGFELLOW,  from  the  German  of  SIMON  DACH. 

"  Ah,  backward  fancy,  wherefore  wake 

The  old  bitterness  again,  and  break 
The  low  beginnings  of  content !  "  —  TENNYSON. 

W'HAT  meagre  description  can  do  justice  to  the 
abounding  gayety,  the  full,  throbbing  life,  the 
buoyant  festivities,  and  the  deep  undercurrent  of  earnest 
thought  and  feeling,  of  a  class-day,  —  the  last,  the  only 
elaborate,  social  entertainment  of  the  undergraduate  before 
he  rushes  forth  into  the  thick  of  the  outer  world  !  How 
the  old  graduate,  unless  his  life  has  been  sad  and  gloomy 
indeed,  looks  back  with  kindling  pleasure  and  a  certain 
mournful  tenderness  at  the  sufficient  happiness  of  those 
earlier  entertainments,  or,  rather,  that  all-important,  long- 
expected  entertainment  which  marked  the  term  of  his  own 
academic  course  1 

And  the  charming  Amelias,  the  lovely  Marys,  the  radi- 
ant Octavias,  and  the  thoroughly  enslaving  Rebeccas,  that 
annuaUy,  in  ever  recurrent  waves  of  sentiment  and  ro- 
mance, sail  in  upon  the  quiet  university  town  on  this 
festal  day,  —  the  pen  must  be  dipped  in  colors  of  sunset, 
that  can  hope  to  paint  their  varied  charms ! 

How  they  take  possession  of  easy-chairs,  henceforth 
consecrated,  and  blossom  out  in  window-seats !  How 
Chey  explore  and  exclaim  over  the  startling  wonders,  the 


480  HAMMERSMITH : 

unique  adornments,  of  the  ancient  rooms !  How  they 
penetrate,  with  proper  escort,  even  into  the  nrysterious 
realms  of  the  Hasty  Pudding  and  other  societies,  and 
ask  many  unanswerable  questions  about  the  marvellous 
things  that  they  see  !  How  becomingly  sad  and  surprised, 
and  entirely  charming,  they  look,  ns  they  listen  to  the 
apocrj'phal  stories  related  of  college-life  by  their  imagina- 
tive gentleaien-5 a- waiting !  What  reprehensible  glances 
they  thrtry  at  many  a  stalwart  young  fellow,  who  has  never 
bins.-..**7,  bef/re  in  his  life!  And  how! — but,  Heavens! 
I  sL«jt!l  never  get  on,  if  I  linger  longer  in  their  detaining 
company  to  the  neglect  of  graver  personages. 

Quieter,  graver  groups  of  mothers  and  fathers,  and 
otliei  relative,  serve  as  a  background  to  this  merry  young 
life.  Tho  university  town  is  a  familiar  spot  to  many  of 
them  ;  to  many  it  is  an  Ultima  Thule  which  they  have 
only  contrived  to  reach  this  once,  out  of  honor  to  their 
darling  boy's  graduation,  their  homespun  boy,  who  has 
blossomed  so  famously  since  he  came  to  this  brilliant  hot- 
house of  learning,  —  a  day  to  be  marked  with  a  white 
stone  in  the  annals  of  the  family. 

Graduates  on  this  day,  as  on  the  quieter  commence- 
ment soon  to  follow,  pace  the  yard,  or  climb  the  old  famil- 
iar stairs,  musingly  eloquent  of  the  splendid  days  of  their 
youth,  and  pointing  out  to  their  friends  the  while  the 
landmarks  of  those  bygone  times.  "  There's  my  old 
freshman  room,  in  the  corner  of  Stoughton,"  says  one,  in- 
dicating it  with  his  cane.  Hays  another,  "  There's  where 
the  Med.  Fac.  blew  up  a  couple  of  sophomores  in  theii 
beds,  —  there  in  the  top  of  Massachusetts.  Some  treach- 
ery or  malpractice  :  we  never  could  find  out  just  what." 
And  another,  leaning  heavily  on  the  arm  of  a  younger 
graduate,  says,  looking  up  at  a  Holworthy  room,  "In 
that  room,  Hal,  on  my  class-day,  your  mother  —  God  bless 
her !  she  was  not  your  mother  then  —  first  let  me  know 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  481 

that  I  had  a  chance  of  winning  her.  Women  were  women 
then,  my  boy ;  and  the  army  of  men  that  she  had  at  her 
feet  was  quite  put  to  rout  and  demoralized  when  I  carried 
her  off  before  their  very  eyes.  It  seems  but  yesterday, 
though  Heaven  knows  it  is  forty  years  since  ! ' ' 

And  the  list  of  orators  and  poets  of  class-daj',  a  copy 
of  which  is  before  me  as  I  write,  with  a  mass  of  college- 
papers,  college- verses,  examination-lists,  themes,  societ}7- 
notices,  and  the  like,  —  with  what  a  pathetic  interest  you 
examine  the  long  line  reaching  back  a  hundred  years  now  ! 

How  many  a  name  has  confirmed  its  earl}'  promise  and 
the  correctness  of  the  undergraduate  judgment !  How 
many  a  man  that  started  out  brilliant,  accomplished,  full- 
freighted,  honored  by  his  class  with  this  or  the  other  class- 
day  distinction,  has  felt  the  fires  of  genius  gradually  dying 
out,  and  lived  on  into  a  flickering  old  age,  supported  by 
the  thought  of  his  youthful  fame !  This  man  gave  no 
prophecy  in  his  plain  college  oration  of  the  world-wide 
fame  that  awaited  him  as  a  silver-tongued  orator,  per- 
suader of  thousands.  That  one  set  all  his  audience,  his 
classmates  above  all,  ablaze  with  the  fervor  of  his  parting 
words,  and  seemed  about  entering  on  a  career  of  glory 
and  usefulness  unapproachable  :  a  lonely  grave  in  a  dis- 
tant country  holds  all  that  was  perishable  in  that  com- 
manding presence  ;  and  the  sweet  spring  birds  sing  carols 
about  the  spot. 

The  gods  that  preside  over  the  weather,  the  goddesses 
that  preside  over  beautiful  girls  and  captivating  toilets, 
had  smiled  propitious  ;  and  Mr.  Tom's  class-day  promised 
to  be  as  guy  and  happy  as  any  that  the  old  university 
town  had  ever  seen. 

The  exercises  in  the  church,  preluded  by  the  old-time 
"rush"  of  undergraduates,  whirh  alarmed  Miss  Mabel 
'Hammersmith  not  a  little ;  the  oration  by  Albeniarle, 


482  HAMMEKSMITH : 

glowing  with  patriotism,  tender  with  happy  reminiscences, 
inspiring  with  lofty  exhortation ;  the  poem  of  Oliver, 
sparkling  with  brilliant  sallies,  chronicling  the  glorious 
victories  and  the  famous  record  of  the  class  ;  the  singing  of 
the  class  ode ;  the  benediction  by  the  beloved  doctor,  — 
all  are  over,  and  the  crowd  is  scattering  for  the  merrier 
festivities  of  the  quadrangle. 

•'God  bless  you,  dear  Tom  !  "  said  Mrs.  Hammersmith, 
as  her  son  came  up  to  her  in  the  church.  "  It  was  very 
fine." 

"Splendid  oration,  wasn't  it?"  asked  Tom.  "That 
was  to  have  been  delivered  by  Breese,  you  know,  mother," 
he  added  in  a  low  voice,  audible  only  to  her.  But  Miss 
Darby  felt  what  he  was  saying,  and  smiled  a  sad  sort  of 
smile  upon  him ;  and  Tom  gave  his  arm  to  his  mother, 
leading  the  way  to  the  college-buildings. 

"  Bravo,  Tom  !  "  said  his  uncle  Gayton,  following,  with 
Mrs.  Darby  on  his  arm.  "  You  look  quite  the  field-mar- 
shal, with  your  baton,  and  all !  " 

"  A  field-marshal  in  evening  dress?  "  asked  Tom. 

"Well,  undress-uniform,  let  us  say,"  answered  his 
uncle  ;  and  the  two  young  ladies,  following  with  Goldie, 
did  not  care  by  what  name  their  beloved  Tom  was  called ; 
for  they  knew  that  he  was  the  handsomest,  the  best,  the 
most  satisfactory,  of  brothers  and  lovers.  They  said  as 
much  to  each  other  with  their  eyes,  and  tripped  across 
the  street  in  their  dainty  shoes  and  delicate  raiment,  a 
pretty  spectacle  for  the  files  of  undergraduates  and  towns- 
people through  which  they  passed. 

Caterers  and  skips,  and  countless  attendants,  had  been 
holding  high  carnival  for  hours,  now,  in  the  old  college- 
halls,  opening  hampers,  setting  tables,  decorating  rooms, 
and  making  ready  the  feasts.  Local  youngsters,  annually 
scenting  the  class-day  odors  from  afar,  had  hovered  about 
the  outskirts  of  preparation,  capturing  a  straggling  tidbit. 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  *83 

or  receiving  damaged  luxuries  with  a  thankful  grin.  The 
plain  college-rooms,  were  transformed  quite  beyond  recog- 
nition by  gay  festoons  and  bouquets,  and  the  showy, 
ampby-stocked  tables.  So  that  our  young  people  were 
entirely  surprised  when  they  entered  the  rooms  of  Ham- 
mersmith's and Goldie' sand  others'  "  spreads"  in  middle 
Holworthy ;  and  Miss  Mabel  again  made  herself  the 
mouthpiece  of  the  wonder  that  they  all  felt. 

"  Mr.  Goldie,  I  believe  you.  have  witches,  or  fairies,  or 
something  of  the  sort,  in  the  university  !  "  she  said.  "I 
am  meeting  surprises  and  funny  things  on  every  hand, 
wherever  I  go.  I  believe  it  is  all  magic !  I  believe  your 
old  halls  are  enchanted !  " 

"  They  are  to-day,  Miss  Mabel,"  the  wicked  old  boat- 
ing man  answered.  But  Miss  Hammersmith  said,  "  Why, 
Mr.  Goldie !  This  from  you  I  Well,  j*ou  are  improving 
in  compliments  !  No  wonder  you  blush  !  ' ' 

But  Goldie  said,  "  '  Blush,'  not  a  bit  of  it!  Red  cur- 
tain, don't  3'ou  see?  —  Won't  you  have  some  salad?  " 

"  Thanks,  I'm  almost  famished,"  she  answered.  Gol- 
die and  Hammersmith,  Oliver  and  Fayerweather,  who 
were  associated  in  this  "  spread,"  continued  to  receive 
their  throngs  of  guests,  and  forage  for  them,  settling  the 
old  ladies  in  comfortable  seats,  exchanging  light  badinage 
with  the  young  ones,  and  putting  everybody  at  ease  by 
their  cheerful  manner  and  read}7  tact. 

The  same  scene  was  enacting  throughout  the  entire 
quadrangle  and  at  many  a  -boarding-house  hard  by.  The 
entries  were  packed  with  blooming  girls,  moving  from  one 
"  spread  "  to  another.  Younger  brothers,  like- our  young 
Dick  Hammersmith,  were  gorging  themselves  on  the  un- 
usual delicacies  ready  at  their  hands.  Servants  were  mak- 
ing their  difficult  way  through  the  crush,  poising  dangerous 
dishes  unsteadily  aloft.  The  windows  overflowed  with 
tnuslin  and  tarlatan  and  tulle,  and  a  thousand  bright  bits 


184  HAMMERSMITH  : 

of  color ;  and  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  elms  outside  rose 
and  fell  in  gentle  whispers  of  pleasure,  looking  on  at 
all  this  radiance  and  freshness  and  beauty.  How  many 
such  battalions  of  happy  youth  and  maidens  have  they 
looked  down  upon  before,  and,  please  God,  shall  continue 
to  protect  with  their  sheltering  shade,  on  those  too  brief 
days  of  college  festivity !  Who  can  tell  how  soon  they 
may  look  down  upon  battalions  of  "  sweet  girl  graduates  " 
oi  Harvard  pacing  along  their  leafy  avenues  ? 

Ruddiman,  Freemantle,  Albemarle,  and  many  otheia, 
had  arranged  their  entertainments  outside  the  quadrangle. 
Buddiman's,  in  especial,  was  sumptuous  to  an  alarming 
degree,  the  forerunner  of  the  lavish  extravagance  with 
which  Harvard  men  of  to-day  are  familiar. 

Crowds  of  common  friends  had  passed  from  these 
"  spreads  "  to  Hammersmith's  and  others'  within  the  quad- 
rangle. Crowds  from  the  quadrangle  had  gone  to  those 
outside,  Miss  Darby  and  Miss  Hammersmith,  with  the 
uncle  and  Tom,  among  the  latter.  When  the  feasting  had 
been  carried  on  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  the  young  ladies 
had  returned  to  Goldie's  rooms,  Miss  Mabel  broke  out,  — 

"  Xow,  Tom,  what  comes  next?  I'm  insatiable,  you 
sec.  I  mean  to  see  every  thing  and  do  every  thing  that  I 
possibby  can !  ' ' 

"  Why,  Mabel !  "  said  her  mother. 

"  Well,  I  do,"  she  answered.  "It  is  my  first  class- 
da}7,  and  it  may  be  my  last,  —  unless  Dick  improves  more 
in  his  studies  than  he  has  improved  the  last  year." 

"Humph!"  exclaimed  Dick  the  indignant,  from  be- 
liind  a  disk  of  strawberries. 

"Oh,  the  Hasty  Pudding !  "  said  Miss  Mabel,  going  up 
lo  Tom. 

"  What  is  it  3*011  want,  Mabel?  Haven't  you  eaten 
enough?  Hasty  Pudding!"  said  her  mother,  in  some 
alarm  at  the  hidden  possibilities  of  the  banquet. 


HIS  HAKVAKD  DAYS.  485 

"  I  don't  want  any  thing,  mother  dear ;  "  and  she  went 
over,  and  kissed  the  pale  widow  in  her  chair  by  the  win- 
dow. "  But  Tom  promised  to  show  us  the  Hasty  Pudding 
Club  rooms,  and  I  want  so  much  to  see  them !  they  are 
so  awfully  mysterious  about  the  club,  Tom  and  Geor — • 
Mr.  Goldie.  And  you  must  take  us  up,  Tom  !  " 

"  But  you'll  have  to  climb  three  flights  of  stairs,  and  be 
blindfolded,  and  have  your  hands  tied  behind  your  back, 
and  recite  three  verses  from  the  Koran,  and  promise  never 
to  eat  chocolate-creams,  and  "  — 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Tom  !  — Must  we  do  all  that,  Mr.  Gol- 
die? "  asked  Miss  Hammersmith. 

"  Not  allowed  to  say,"  answered  the  mysterious  fellow. 
"  Will  take  you  up,  if  you'll  run  the  risk.  Girls  have 
been  known  to  live  through  it  —  sometimes  !  " 

' '  Come,  Ellen ;  come,  Tom,"  said  Miss  Mabel.  ' '  Can't 
uncle  go? " 

"  Bless  you,  yes  I  "  answered  the  "  Duke."  "  I'm  an 
honorarius,  ex  post  facto  tempus  fugit  concordia  discors 
seges  votis  respondet  crocodilicos,  at  your  service,  my 
lady!" 

"You're  all  making  fun  of  me,  I  do  believe!"  said 
she.  "  It  isn't  fair  ;  is  it,  mother?  "  And  she  appealed 
to  her  mother  in  mock  gravity  of  despair. 

Presently  the  four  young  people  were  mounting  the 
Stoughtou  stairway,  up  which  legions  of  trembling  neo- 
phytes have  climbed  before  and  since ;  while  the  older 
people  remained  in  Goldie's  rooms,  looking  out  upon  the 
swarming  yard,  and  chatting  pleasantly. 

The  young  ladies  did  not  find  any  thing  terrific,  or  fear- 
fully nrysterious,  in  the  famous  Pudding  rooms ;  and 
(hough  Tom  made  a  great  show  of  secrecy  at  the  door, 
insisting  on  blindfolding  his  sister,  and  bringing  out  an 
old  volume  that  he  declared  was  the  Koran,  Miss  Darby 
put  a  stop  to  his  brother!}-  pranks  and,  laughing  heartily 
a/  Miss  Mabel's  perplexity,  said,  — 


486  HAMMEESMITH : 

"  Come,  Tom  dear.  We  shall  be  losing  the  dancing  !  " 
And  Goldie  added,  — 

"Well,  Miss  Mabel,  we  are  allowed  b}r  the  sphinx  to 
forego  these  ceremonies  on  some  occasions, — when  a 
person  has  conscientious  scruples  about  repeating  from  the 
Koran,  for  instance.  You  have  scruples  of  that  sort, 
haven't  3Tou?  " 

"Yes,  yes  —  I  suppose  so,"  answered  the  mystified 
young  woman. 

"  I  thought  so.  And  we  can  permit  you  to  go  in,  if 
you'll  promise  solemnly  never  to  divulge  what  you  may 
see,  or  hear,  or  feel  "  — 

"  Oh,  gracious  !  "  said  Miss  Mabel. 

"  Under  penalty  of  losing  the  devotion  of  yours  truly, 
George  Goldie,"  he  added  sotto  voce  to  her,  as  Tom  and 
Miss  Darby  were  passing  in  ahead.  She  said  "  Oh,  gra- 
cious ! ' '  again,  and  continued  to  make  use  of  that  and 
many  other  exclamations,  as  they  examined  the  Hysterics 
and  wonders  of  that  elaborate  old  society,  whose  name 
they  had  heard  so  often,  and  with  such  awful  forebodings. 

Other  couples  were  before  them,  sitting  in  the  cosey 
window-seats,  turning  over  the  famous  painted  pro- 
grammes of  the  society,  scrutinizing  the  anomalous  toilets 
of  the  male-women  actors  whose  photographs  hung  about 
on  the  walls,  taking  down  a  mustj^  volume  here  and  there 
from  the  ample  library  ranged  about  the  rooms,  and  dip- 
ping into  some  few  secret  nr^steries  that  cannot  bear  tran- 
script to  these  pages. 

"What  funny,  funny,  looking  actresses  }~ou  men  make  ! ' ' 
exclaimed  Miss  Mabel. 

"  Some  of  them  are  mighty  good,  I  think,"  said  Golclie. 

"You  should  have  seen  Ruddiman,  the  other  evening, 
as  Juliet !  "  added  Tom  ;  and,  as  they  were  leaving,  that 
effulgent  young  gentleman,  to-day  as  sombre  and  severe 
as  all  his  class,  to  be  sure,  in  evening-dress  of  faultless 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  487 

cut,  entered  with  Miss  Malachite,  the  proudest  man  in  all 
Cambridge. 

"How  d'ye  do?" 

"  How  do  you  do?  " 

"  Miss  Malachite,  Miss  Hammersmith  ;  Miss  Hammer- 
smith, Miss  Malachite,"  said  the  elaborate  Ruddiman ;  and 
Miss  Mabel  bowed  with  the  rest,  and  presently  said,  — 

"  Mr.  Ruddiman,  we  were  just  talking  of  your  acting." 

"  Great  thing  !  "  said  the  young  man.  "Immense  suc- 
cess, no  end  of  applause  !  Seen  m}T  photo  ?  Permit  me 
—  I  was  just  bringing  a  couple  to  hang  up  in  the  rooms." 
And  the  jocund  fellow  pulled  out  a  pencil,  wrote  "  Com- 
pliments of  Robt.  Ruddimau  "  on  the  back  of  a  cabinet 
photograph  that  he  took  from  his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to 
Miss  Hammersmith. 

' '  Is  that  you  ?  Really !  I  never  should  have  known 
it !  "  she  said.  "  How  handsome !  " 

"  Well,  I  like  that !  "  said  Ruddiman,  firing  up. 

"  What !  Oh,  j-ou  know  what  I  mean !  I  didn't  sup- 
pose you  could  make  up  so  well .  —  And  that  is*  my  poor 
old  gown,  Tom,  that  you  borrowed!  —  And  who  did  up 
your  hair  —  I  mean,  where  did  you  get  your  wig  ?  It  is 
a  wig,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  answered  Ruddiman ;  and  the  mysteries  of 
the  club  hair-dressing  and  other  adornment  were  explained, 
while  the  photograph  was  passed  around,  and  criticised. 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  young  man  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Mabel, 
as  the}'  were  making  their  way  to  the  green  for  a  dance,  in 
thaf  p  'etty  bygone  fashion  of  the  day,  destructive  though 
it  may  have  been  to  delicate  slippers  and  skirts.  "  We 
girls  have  no  chance  at  all  compared  to  you  men.  Look 
ut  our  wishy-washy  schools  !  And  what  a  lovely  time  }'ou 
have  here !  " 

"  You  can't  judge  from  to-day,  Mabel,"  said  Tom. 
*"'  We  have  to  work  like  Trojans  in  term-time  ;  haven't  we; 
ffrorge?" 


488  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Darby  slily,  answering  for  Goldie 
"  But  I'll  tell  you  to-night,  when  we  are  at  home,  what  it 
is  at  which  they  work  like  Trojans.      I  wouldn't  advise 
your  believing  all  these  silly  young  men  tell  you  to-day, 
Mabel." 

"  And  1  wouldn't  advise  your  believing  all  that  a  cer- 
tain young  woman  may  tell  yon  about  midnight,  Miss 
Mabel,"  said  Goldie.  "  The  imagination  is  very  lively 
at  that  time  of  night,  particularly  in  3'oung  women." 

"  For  shame,  George  !  "  said  his  cousin  ;  and  they  saun- 
tered off,  the  two  couples,  to  the  dances  on  the  green,  and 
the  ' '  fascinating  ' '  and  ' '  delightful ' '  and  ' '  lovely  ' '  and 
"sweet  dances"  in  Harvard  Hall,  as  various  exuberant 
young  women  might  have  been  heard  to  declare  them 
during  the  course  of  the  afternoon. 

This  dancing  experience  was  so  novel  and  alluring  to 
Miss  Hammersmith,  she  had  so  recently  obtained  her 
mother's  sanction  for  her  indulging  in  the  round  dances, 
and  the  merry  scene  before  her  was  all  so  dazzling  and  dis- 
tracting, lhat  I  do  not  wonder  the  young  girl  was  quite 
beside  herself  with  pleasant  intoxication  of-  delight. 

"  Dear  Mabel,  3*011  must  not,  you  really  must  not,  dance 
so  much,"  her  mother  would  say,  as  she  returned  now 
and  then  to  the  rooms  of  the  "  spread,"  her  cheeks 
flushed,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  excitement. 

"  I'm  not  dancing  too  much,  mother  dear,"  she  would 
say ;  "  but  the  music  is  so  lovely  that  I  can't  keep  still." 
And  she  would  go  off  on  the  arm  of  Goldie,  Freer  \antle, 
Fayerweather,  or  some  other  young  student,  for  more 
dances  and  more  delicious  intoxication. 

Miss  Darb}*,  graver  than  her  wont  under  the  sense  of 
Tom's  approaching  departure  for  the  war,  danced  but 
little,  took  a  turn  of  the  green,  visited  Harvard  Hall  and 
several  "  spreads"  with  Hammersmith,  and  sat  quietly  a 
large  part  of  the  time  with  Mrs.  Hammersmith  and  the 
rest. 


HTS   HARVARD   DAYS.  489 

"Happy  fellow,  Hammersmith!"  men  wou.d  say  to 
each  other,  as  Tom  and  his  beautiful  young  love  sailed 
about  the  yard  and  the  old  buildings. 

"  How  proud  they  look  !  "  would  be  the  exclamation  of 
envious  beauties,  or  plebeian  strangers,  who  looked  on  at 
the  handsome,  happy  couple  moving  about,  really  too 
happy  to  speak,  and  so  wearing  an  air  of  silent  haughti- 
ness not  unlikely  to  provoke  comment. 

' '  My  dear  Emily,  you  ought  to  be  the  happiest  woman 
in  the  quadrangle  to-day,"  Mr.  Gay  ton  said  to  Mrs.  Ham- 
mersmith during  the  afternoon,  "with  such  a  beautiful 
girl,  —  two  such  beautiful  girls,  I  may  say,  —  and  such  a 
fellow  as  Tom  before  your  eyes.  What  a  swell  the  young 
fellow  is!  " 

"  Please,  not  that  name,  Gay  ton,"  the  quiet  mother 
answered.  ' '  He  is  only  Tom  to  me  ;  and  I  could  be  very, 
veiy  happy,  if  the  thought  of  his  going  away  to  the  war 
were  not  in  my  mind  continually.  It  will  break  my 
heart!" 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  Excuse  me,  dear  Emily ;  but  I  remem- 
ber you  used  that  very  expression  when  Tom  was  about 
to  be  sent  away  to  college.  Was  it  a  hundred  years  ago? 
No,  pardon  me,  four,"  bowing  elaborately  as  he  said  this  ; 
"  and  here  is  the  young  fellow  alive  and  well,  and  a  great 
man  in  his  class,  as  you  must  allow." 

"  Yes  ;  but  this  is  a  very  different  matter,"  the  mother 
answered;  and  all  the  "Duke's"  skill  as  a  diplomatist 
was  called  into  play  to  cheer  her,  and  to  make  her  son's 
departure  seem  the  most  natural,  the  most  honorable, 
course  in  the  world, — the  veiy  one  that  all  able-bodied 
voung  Hammersmiths  were  fond  of  foUowing,  from  the 
v.  arliest  histoiy  of  the  famity. 

The  dances  were  over ;  the  crowds  in  the  quadrangle 
were  immensely  increased  as  evening  came  on ;  and  the 
lay  was  going  out  like  a  gorgeous  sunset,  rich  with  color, 
/ashing  with  many-hued  radiance. 


490  HAMMERSMITH : 

It  was  while  stopping,  almost  breathless,  from  the  .asl 
dauce  in  Harvard  Hall,  that  Miss  Hammersmith  was 
aware  of  a  pensive  figure  leaning  against  a  column,  and 
watching  the  whirling  couples  in  the  centre  of  the  floor. 

She  was  on  the  arm  of  Goldie  ;  and,  as  she  passed  th«' 
figure  in  question,  she  said  with  a  light  air,  — 

"  Why  so  pensive,  Mr.  lluddiman?  " 

1 '  Oh  !  —  I  —  was  thinking  —  I  was  thinking  of  graduat- 
ing, of  leaving  all  these  endearing  young  charms  and  the 
old  university,"  answered  the  mournful  j'outh,  with  a 
sudden  accession  of  regretful  tenderness. 

"Ah,  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Euddimau!  It  must  be 
so  hard  !  "  the  young  woman  said  quietly.  She  looked  so 
mischievous,  however,  and  she  glanced  so  involuntarily  to 
a  certain  couple  gliding  gracefully  about  in  the  crush  of 
dancers,  — a  couple  on  which  Ruddiman's  eyes  were  also 
fastened,  — that  Ruddiinan  felt  uncomfortable.  He  never 
could  quite  make  Miss  Hammersmith  out.  She  had  so 
casual  a  way  of  sajing  things,  making  such  accidental 
double  entendres,  that  he  could  never  tell  just  how  much 
was  badinage,  just  how  much  was  serious.  She  was  very 
happy,  certainty,  and  very  merry,  this  afternoon.  Goldie 
had  been  her  devoted  squire  from  noon  till  now  ;  and  we 
cannot  blame  the  cheerful  girl  if  she  dropped  a  little  chaff 
with  the  doleful  Ruddimau,  and  if  such  things  as  trials 
and  tribulations  seemed  quite  out  of  the  pale  of  possible 
things  in  the  fulness  of  her  sunny  jo}-. 

So  Ruddimau  was  left  consuming  himself  with  jealousy 
as  Freemantlc  and  Miss  Malachite  danced  and  talked 
in  low  tones  before  his  very  eyes,  and  wishing  quite  a 
catalogue  of  unkind  wishes  for  his  free  and  easy  classmate 
in  return  for  his  cutting  in,  and  stealing  Miss  Malachite 
away  from  his  table,  and  monopolizing  her  ever  since, — • 
monopolizing  her  as  well  in  the  pensive  evening,  when  the 
.rowds  and  the  lights,  the  music  and  the  thought  of  part- 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  493 

ing,  filled  the  tender  student  with  sentiment,  and  sur- 
rounded every  casual  maiden  with  a  halo  of  romance. 

It  was  not  a  cheerful  spectacle,  — the  noble  Ruddiman 
looking  fit  life  through  the  smoked  glasses  of  despair. 
But  there  were  scores  of  youth  in  the  quadrangle,  dying 
just  such  pleasant  half-deaths  that  afternoon  and  evening ; 
and  we  know  enough  of  the  resuscitating  habit  of  the 
Ruddiman  stock  not  to  be  fearful  of  his  entire  extinction. 
Other  men  have  seen  their  innamoratas  sailing  away  in 
the  arms  of  successful  rivals,  and  have  yet  survived  :  why 
should  not  he  ? 

The  same  Darb}- group  was  gathered,  just  before  sunset, 
in  a  spacious  window  of  Harvard  Hall,  waiting  for  the 
unique  closing  exercises  of  the  day,  — the  songs  and  rings, 
and  grotesque  farewell  performances  of  the  seniors  about 
Liberty  Tree. 

The  windows  of  Harvard,  Hollis,  Stoughton,  Holden, 
were  alive  with  eager  faces  from  ground-floor  to  eaves. 
Crowds  filled  all  the  available  space  between  those  halls 
and  the  street.  Fences,  trees,  carriage-tops,  were  sur- 
mounted by  youthful  acrobats  bent  on  seeing  the  sport. 
A  large  concourse  of  sight-seers  —  in  carriages,  on  horse- 
back, on  foot  —  blocked  up  the  street  adjacent,  and  drxn  e 
the  local  policeman  frantic. 

The  under-classmeu  are  grouped  in  the  centre  of  a  huge 
ring.  A  wreath  of  small  bouquets  circles  the  Liberty 
Tree  at  a  height  to  which  you  and  I  might  have  leaped 
or  scrambled  when  vc  were  lads,  my  dear  Philippus,  but 
which  we  would  not  venture  to  reach  uowada}'s,  for  all 
the  roses  and  posies  of  Christendom,  and  all  the  happy 
laughter  and  light  applause  that  might  reward  us  from  the 
surrounding  halls.  We  might  be  ever  so  anxious  and 
willing  ;  but  gravity  is  against  us. 

The  music  of  a  band  again,  in  the  distance,  followed 
at  intervals  by  cheers ;  cheers  such  as  Miss  Mabel  had 


492  HAMMERSMITH : 

not  heard  since  Worcester  of  last  year  •,  cheers  such  as 
set  mairy  a  heart  in  the  crowd  beating,  and  recalled  to 
man}-  a  graduate  present  the  vigorous,  joyous  days  of  his 
prime. 

"  What  are  they  doing,  Ellen?  "  asked  Miss  Hammer- 
smith. 

"  They  are  cheering  the  buildings,  for  farewell, ''  saiu 
Miss  Darb}*. 

"  How  lovely,  how  hearty,  how  splendid,  it  all  is,  Ellen ! 
Why  don't  you  say  something?  " 

"Oh  !  I've  seen  two  class-days  before,  — Harry  Goldie's 
four  years  ago  (just  after  I  was  home  from  Europe) ,  my 
friend  Miss  Faj'erweather's  brother's  last  year,  j'ou  know." 

"  Is  it  always  as  sweet  as  this?  " 

"  Not  always  such  pleasant  weather.  It  is  often  fear- 
fully hot ;  sometimes  it  rains,  I  believe.  But  there  is 
usually  an  immense  crowd,  and  just  such  excitement  and 
gayety  as  you've  seen  to-day." 

"But  were  you  ever  so  happy?  Were  you  ever  so 
happy  as  to-day,  Ellen?  " 

"  Were  3-011,  Mabel?  "  asked  the  other.  And  the  two 
young  girls,  each  as  happy  as  girls  could  be,  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes  for  just  a  brief  moment,  and  smiled.  I 
am  not  sure  which  blushed  the  more  of  the  two  ;  I  fear  it 
was  Miss  Hammersmith :  and  I  do  not  in  the  least  blame 
a  knot  of  juniors,  sitting  on  the  grass  within  the  ring,  for 
looking  many  tunes  up  at  the  two  girls  in  the  Harvard 
Hall  window,  smiling  and  blushing  there  in  their  beauty. 

' '  Two  to  one  on  the  girl  with  the  red  feather ! ' '  said 
one. 

"  Mine's  the  girl  in  blue  and  white,"  said  another. 

"A  basket  of  champagne  that  Goldie  is  engaged  to 
her!  "  added  a  third. 

"Nonsense!     He's   not   such   a   quick   bird   as 
Give  him  a  little  time !  " 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  493 

"  She  smiled  at  me,  by  Jove !  Five  to  one  she'll  smile 
again,  Phil!  " 

"  Everybody  knows  a  smile  will  upset  you,  old  fellow. 
One  smile's  all  you  can  stand." 

"Here  they  come,  fellows!  Here  are  the  seniors!" 
snouted  a  junior,  as  the  seniors  appeared. 

" What  frights!  what  perfect  horrors!  Why,  Ellen, 
why  do  they  dress  like  that?  " 

"  A  custom,  my  dear  Mabel,  —  a  custom  of  class-day. 
You'll  see  why  in  a  few  moments." 

"  There's  Tom,  and  —  Mr.  Goldie  and  Mr.  Albemaiie 
and  Mr.  Ruddiman.  What  fearful  old  clothes !  What 
disgraceful  hats  !  Why,  Tom  has  a  new  hat ! ' ' 

"  Yes,  a  custom,"  chimed  in  Mr.  Gajton.  "  A 
mighty  expensive  little  item  for  a  young  senior,  you'll  see 
in  a  few  moments,  Mabel." 

And  while  the  Darby  group,  and  a  hundred  others 
equally  interested,  looked  on,  and  commented  on  the  droll 
figures  and  eccentric  dressing  of  the  seniors,  and  a  low 
murmur  ran  about  through  the  crowds  at  hand,  the  seniors 
marched  into  the  centre  of  the  ring,  and  halted. 

"  Oh  !  what  do  they  do  now?  Do  tell  me,  Ellen  !  I'm 
afraid  I  shall  lose  something,"  said  Miss  Hammersmith. 

"  Have  you  lost  any  thing  to-day,  Mabel?  "  asked  her 
ancle,  looking  mischievous  a  moment,  then  glancing 
quickly  out  at  the  window,  and  lengthening  his  face. 

"Xo."  said  she,  "nothing,  I  think."  And  then,  noti- 
cing her  uncle's  look,  she  blushed  prettily,  as  she  said  in  a 
iow  voice,  "Uncle,  you're  very  unkind!  I've  not  lost 
what  you  mean,  and  I  don't  intend  to  ever!  "  And  the 
old  gentleman  of  course  felt  very  uncomfortable,  and  of 
course  believed  her,  and  of  course  concluded  that  he  must 
have  been  mistaken  in  thinking  Mr.  George  Goldie  most 
remarkably  devoted  to  his  sweet  young  niece  during  the 
entire  day. 


494  HAMMERSMITH : 

The  great  ringing  chorus  of  the  class  song ;  the  hearty 
cheers  for  the  president,  the  professors,  the  tutors,  every- 
body and  every  thing,  from  the  old  university  itself  to 
the  ancient  handmaidens  and  the  various  sports  of  ihu 
time ;  the  excited  singing  of  Auld  Lang  Syne,  with  it? 
accelerated  movement  and  gradual  crescendo  of  irnpetu- 
osit}' ;  the  whirling  rush  about  the  garlanded  tree,  with 
the  concentric  rings  colliding  in  their  course,  the  sopho- 
mores and  freshmen  ending,  as  usual,  in  a  fierce  scrimmage, 
and  an  attempt  to  break  each  other's  lines ;  the  wild 
scramble  for  the  flowers  encircling  the  tree-trunk  ;  the  vic- 
torious shouts  ;  the  applause  from  the  surrounding  halls, 
and  the  long-continued  and  quite  unprecedented  hugging 
and  farewells  of  the  graduating  class,  —  ah,  how  the  vigo- 
rous scene  comes  back  to  me  these  thousands  of  miles 
away !  And  what  a  thrill  the  memoiy  of  that  festal  after- 
noon, those  brave  }roung  seniors,  that  rose-garden  of  youth 
and  beaut}'  blooming  in  the  ancient  hall- windows,  gives  an 
old  graduate  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  decades  ! 

The  new  hat  of  Hammersmith's,  which  excited  his  sis- 
ter's comment,  had  been  man}'  times  lifted  and  waved  in 
air,  as  his  old  ancestor  Rupert  might  have  waved  his 
chapeau  at  the  Bueua  Vista  charge.  Mr.  Tom  had  called 
for  cheers  for  everybody  and  every  thing,  as  has  been 
said,  — faculty,  old  university,  boating,  cricket,  the  classes 
(saving  the  freshmen,  who  set  up  a  partisan  howl  on  their 
own  account),  the  ladies,  the  societies,  even  the  factotum 
' l  Glue, ' '  and  the  body  of  skips  and  forgiven  ' '  old  pocos  : ' ' 
and  the  surrounding  halls  had  given  back  mighty  echoes 
of  "  'Rah,  'rah,  'rah  !  "  And  when  at  last,  standing  bare- 
headed, handsome,  among  ah1  those  manly  young  students 
already  immensely  excited,  he  lifted  his  voice  and  said, 
•'Now,  fellows,  I  propose  three  times  three  cheers  for  our 
dear  old  country  and  the  men  that  have  gone  forth  from 
this  place  to  defend  her,"  there  was  a  sudden  crash  of 


HIS  HAEVAED  DAYS.  495 

applause  and  of  cheers  from  the  immense  crowd  in  attend- 
ance. 

As  he  lifted  his  hat,  and  swung  it  in  air,  such  cheers 
were  given,  b}*  students  and  spectators  alike,  as  I  ima- 
gine the  old  Liberty  Tree  had  rarely  listened  to  before ; 
cheers  which  would  have  fired  the  hearts  of  Breese  and 
Curtis  and  Farley  and  the  rest,  could  they  have  heard 
their  echo  in  the  Virginia  camp  where  they  lay ;  cheers 
which  did  infinite  honor  to  the  happy  young  gentlemen 
who  gave  them,  and  which  proved,  that,  beneath  an  exte- 
rior of  seeming  carelessness  and  assumed  ease,  there  was 
a  warm  and  abiding  love  of  country,  and  a  devotion  to 
ideas  worth}*1  of  the  noble  old  university  that  had  cher- 
ished them  and  trained  them  all  these  years,  and  other 
patriots  before  them. 

Hammersmith  has  finally  hurled  his  hat  at  the  tree  as 
a  signal  for  the  scramble  to  begin,  Miss  Hammersmith 
exclaiming,  "Good  gracious!  So  that's  the  expensive 
custom,  uncle  Gayton !  "  as  she  saw  it  trodden  under  foot 
by  the  rushing  seniors,  making  for  the  tree.  The  wreath 
of  flowers  has  at  length  been  entirely  torn  from  its  place 
bj-  the  young  men,  who  jumped  and  clambered,  and  made 
Trojan  charges,  combination-attacks,  for  it.  All  these 
brisk  young  fellows,  who  have  been  so  fine  in  evening- 
dress  and  faultless  linen  all  day,  now,  in  the  oldest  and 
oddest  of  clothes,  are  covered  with  dust,  and  breathing 
like  war-horses.  Youthful  spectators  have  shouted ' '  Ki-yi  I 
Look  at  the  little  one  !  "  as  Ruddimau  distinguished  him- 
self by  climbing  over  the  heads  and  shoulders  of  his  class- 
mates, and  canying  off  a  small  arc  of  the  flower-circle. 
Young  ladies  have  felt  their  hearts  beating  a  trifle  quicker 
as  they  looked  down  and  saw  the  ecstatic  embraces  of 
their  young  friends,  hitherto  so  severely  decorous,  so  care- 
fully restrained  in  their  devotions.  The  last  tii-ed  class- 
'  mate  has  fallen  into  the  arms  of  his  friends,  of  his  quondam 

f 


496  HAMMERSMITH: 

enemies,  of  men  with  whom  he  has  hardly  had  a  word 
during  his  whole  college- course.  The  seniors  have  left, 
soon  to  re-appear,  gorgeous  for  the  evening's  festivities. 
The  crowd  melts  away.  Village  urchins,  bent  on  anti- 
quarian research,  traverse  and  prod  the  field  for  trophies 
of  the  peaceful  fight.  The  sun  has  long  since  gone  down, 
with  a  last  lingering  smile  on  all  this  happy  throng,  this 
merry  flower-scene,  bright  after  its  own  sunny  heart.  The 
lights  are  lit  in  the  quadrangle ;  the  cosey  teas  of  the 
seniors  are  in  progress  ;  and  a  few  short  hours  of  music, 
of  song,  of  revery,  of  sentiment,  and.  the  glad-sorrowful 
day  is  over. 

The  band  is  playing  in  the  middle  of  the  quadrangle. 
Lights  are  hung  far  and  near  under  the  arching  elms. 
Happy  couples,  bathed  in  a  delicious  sea  of  romance, 
wander  here  and  there  through  the  crowds.  Flood-gates 
of  sentiment  arc  opened  that  were  never  dreamed  of  before 
by  the  startled  gate-keepers.  Young  men  are  talking 
proudly,  hopefully,  of  their  vast  plans,  their  lofty  aims ; 
and  bright  C3"cs  flash  with  admiration,  or  melt  in  tender 
syrnpath}",  as  the  manly  youth  pour  forth  their  vows,  their 
hopes,  their  doughty  resolves. 

"Well,  my  little  mother,"  says  Hammersmith,  approach- 
ing his  mother  in  the  beginning  of  the  evening,  just  as 
the  Glee  Club  is  mounting  the  stand  for  a  song,  "  how 
are  you  getting  along?  Will  you  go  to  the  president's 
reception  with  us?  " 

"No,  Tom  dear:  I'm  too  tired.  I  have  had  a  very 
happy  day ;  but  I  must  go  now.  Gayton  will  take  care  of 
me  ;  do  you  stay  and  enjoy  yourself.  Mrs.  Darby  will 
look  after  the  girls — will  you  not,  Mrs .  Darbj*  ?  Thanks  ! ' ' 
And  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  a  pressure  of  Tom's  hand, 
that  meant  volumes  of  pleasure  and  grief,  and  forecasting 
fear,  to  Hammersmith,  the  good  mother  left  the  room  with 
Mr.  Gayton,  and  returned  to  the  Darbys'. 


HIS   HAKVAKD   DAYS.  497 

"  Why  are  you  so  quiet,  Ellen?  "  asked  Hammersmith, 
bending  over  Miss  Darby,  who  sat  in  a  window-seat,  look- 
ing out.  "  Why  have  you  been  so  quiet  all  day?  " 

"  O  Tom !  "  she  answered,  turning  her  face  up  to  his, 
and  taking  one  of  his  hands  in  both  of  hers,  "  can't  you 
imagine  ?  How  can  I  help  feeling  sad,  and  being  quiet,  if 
you  persist  in  going  to  the  war,  dear  Tom  ? ' ' 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Tom,  "  don't  let  us  think  of  that 
this  evening !  The  war  may  be  ended  before  commence- 
ment ;  and  I've  promised  you  not  to  go  till  then." 

"  But  I  can  think  of  nothing  else,  Tom.  I've  tried  to 
forget  it  all  day.  I've  danced,  and  watched  every  thing 
and  everybody  about  me,  and  tried  to  imagine  that  it  was 
all  a  dream,  and  that  you  were  not  realty  going,  after  all. 
But  it  is  no  use.  I  can  think  of  absolutely  nothing  else. 
I  have  thought  of  nothing  else  for  weeks ;  ' '  and  she  re- 
leased his  hand,  and  leaned  her  head  on  her  own  hand. 

"But  see  how  well  and  happy  I  am!  And  what  a 
merry  scene  this  is!"  said  Hammersmith.  "Don't  let 
us  prophesy  evil  on  a  night  like  this,  Ellen  dear !  " 

"But  I  cannot  help  it,  Tom.  I  cannot  help  dreading 
your  going.  You  are  always  rushing  into  danger  so!" 
And  Tom  was  leaning  over  to  speak  words  of  comfort  to 
her,  when  "One,  two,  three,  Hammersmith!"  came  in  a 
great  chorus  from  the  Glee  Club ;  and  he  drew  back, 
saying,  — 

"  Pshaw,  I  forgot  those  fellows  were  looking  up  here  ! 
Shall  I  go  down?  I'll  do  any  thing  that  you  say  to-night, 
Ellen,  except "  — 

"  Yes,  except,"  she  said  mournfully. 

"  Except  promising  you  not  to  go  to  the  war." 

"One,  two,  three,  Hammersmith  !  "  came  up  again  from 
the  quadrangle.  Miss  Darb}r  said,  "  Go,  Tom,  they  want 
you  ;  but  don't  stay  long."  And  Mr.  Tom  went  down,  and 
was  soon  singing  away  with  the  club.  But  his  thoughts 


498  HAMMERSMITH : 

were  far  away  from  the  music  in  baud  ;  away  with  Breese 
and  the  rest  at  the  post  of  danger ;  away  on  the  wild 
journey  which  his  hopes  and  fears  led  him,  when  lie 
thought  of  the  dear  girl  in  the  window-seat  yonder,  whom 
he  loved  only  less  dearly  than  his  country  and  his  honor. 

"Come,  Ellen,  let  us  go  to  the  reception,"  he  .said, 
returning  after  a  while  to  Miss  Darbj'.  "You  have  been 
sitting  here  too  long,  thinking  of  the  war  and  all  that." 

"  I'd  rather  not  go  to  the  reception,  Tom,"  she  said; 
"  but  I'll  take  a  little  walk,  if  you  wish."  And  they  went 
out,  and  made  a  tour  of  the  quadrangle ;  strangely  and 
yet  not  strangely  silent,  under  the  influence  of  their  com- 
mon thought ;  silent  too,  as  their  memories  went  back 
over  the  short  years  of  Hammersmith's  Cambridge  life, 
packed  full  of  events  that  had  been  drawing  them  gradu- 
ally but  surely  together. 

Then  they  passed  out  of  the  yard,  and  traversed  many 
of  the  familiar  promenades  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
college.  All  Cambridge  was  floating  in  a  golden  atmos- 
phere of  pensive  revery,  and  tender,  melancholy  senti- 
ment ;  and  these  two  3*oung  hearts  were  touched  as  they 
had  never  been  before  with  the  sweet  sadness  of  parting 
and  the  new  thought  of  their  terrible  dependence  on  each 
other. 

"What  they  said  on  that  peaceful,  starlit  night,  as  they 
paced  the  leafy  avenues  of  the  town,  within  sound  of  the 
music  from  the  quadrangle ;  how  Mr.  Tom  pointed  out 
many  a  spot  here  and  there,  made  interesting  to  him  (and 
now  to  her)  b}r  bojish  adventures  of  his  ;  how  he  tried  to 
draw  her  mind  from  the  sad  thought  of  separation  and  of 
battle-fields,  — it  does  not  concern  us  to  inquire. 

It  was  a  difficult  task  to  free  her  from  this  bitter,  blind- 
ing fear ;  a  difficult  task  to  make  her  believe,  that,  in  a  few 
short  weeks,  he  would  be  returning  to  lay  his  spurs  at  her 
feet.  For  not  only  to  Miss  Darby,  but  to  scores  of  others 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  499 

in  the  merry  quadrangle  that  day,  had  come  the  thought 
of  the  nameless  dangers  to  which  many  of  these  young 
men,  their  brothers,  their  sons,  their  lovers,  were  so  soon 
to  expose  themselves. 

A  deep,  solemn  undertone  of  sadness,  a  bitter  refrain, 
from  out  the  hearts  of  mothers  and  sisters  and  sweet- 
hearts, had  been  singing  itself  all  day  under  the  light 
music,  the  gay,  festive  songs  of  revelry.  And  the  hearts 
of  the  3'oung  men,  which  beat  so  proudly  that  da}',  were 
themselves  smitten  with  a  sense  of  the  noble  rage,  the 
!agh  responsibilit}',  of  the  conflict  that  called  them. 

It  was  as  if  a  jolly  woodland  party  were  feasting  and 
making  merry  under  sun-flecked  foliage,  all  unconscious, 
or  but  dimly  conscious,  of  the  muttering  thunder  and  the 
leaping  lightning  of  a  fierce  summer  storm  approaching 
apace.  The  light  footing  of  the  dance  was  soon  to  give 
place  to  the  hurried  tramp  of  horses  and  men  ;  the  festive 
music,  to  the  clang  of  summoning  trumpets ;  and  all 
the  light  laughter  and  sentiment  and  meriymakiug,  to  be 
drowned  in  the  hoarse  roar  of  conflict. 

"  Dear  Ellen,  you  would  not  have  me  turn  my  back  on 
my  duty !  "  Tom  said,  as  the}T  were  returning  across  the 
Delta  to  the  quadrangle,  Miss  Darby  leaning  heavily  on 
his  arm. 

"  No,  of  course  not,  Tom,"  she  answered.  "  But  one 
man  more  or  less,  — what  can  it  matter?  " 

"One  man  ma}*  save  a  whole  country!"  exclaimed 
Hammersmith;  "a  whole  cause,  a  whole  side,  a  whole 
army !  Look  !  "  said  he,  "  here  is  the  very  place  where 
Breese  saved  our  freshman  game  four  years  ago !  You 
saw  it.  You  know  how  it  was  done  ?  It  was  done  by  one 
man's  being  plucky,  and  mad  with  fine  anger,  and  care- 
less of  himself,  so  that  only  he  could  serve  his  fellows,  And 
win  the  victory." 

u  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Miss  Darby. 


500  HAMMERSMITH : 

"  And  what  would  Breese  say,  do  you  think,  if  he  knew 
that  I  was  hesitating  about  joining  him !  I  am  not  hesi- 
tating ;  I  have  never  hesitated  —  except,  dear  EUen,  when 
I  have  thought  of  you  and  mother  and  Mabel ;  "  and  b* 
leaned  towards  her,  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  to  which 
Miss  Darbj"  inclined  her  ear. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "  war  is  always  the  hardest  on  the 
women,  Tom." 

' '  But  you  would  not  have  the  men  cowards  and  shirks ! ' ' 
he  exclaimed.  "You  would  not  have  them  stand  wring- 
ing their  hands,  and  let  their  country  be  torn  to  pieces ! 
No,  death,  grief,  any  thing,  is  better  than  that !  I  would 
rather  fall  in  my  first  fight,  with  my  face  to  the  enemy, 
than  to  live,  and  feel  that  I  had  shirked  my  duty.  You 
would  prefer  it  so,  too,  dear  Ellen ;  yes,  I  know  you 
would."  But  she  only  clung  the  closer  to  his  arm,  and 
made  no  answer. 

"  As  you  say,  what  is  one  man  more  or  less !  "  he  went 
on.  "But  I  mean  it  in  a  different  sense.  And  what 
great  matter,  if  I  do  fall?  " 

"  O  Tom,  Tom !  "  she  said. 

"  If  I  fell,  it  would  be  with  your  love  in  my  heart,  dear 
Ellen,  and  your  name  on  my  lips  ;  and  I  would  have  them 
for  eternity  !  And  you  would  be  proud  that  I  had  died  in 
such  a  cause  "  — 

"  Please  don't,  Tom !  "  she  interposed. 

"  But  if  I  staid  at  home,  and  saw  others  plunge  in  and 
do  the  fighting  for  me — Heavens,  how  I  should  feel !  I 
should  be  ashamed  of  my  name,  ashamed  to  look  a  brave 
man  in  the  face  ;  and  you  would  be  ashamed  of  me  your- 
self, Ellen  dear." 

"  Never,  Tom,  never ;  for  I  should  know  that  you  only 
staid  at  home  for  your  mother's  sake  and  mine." 

"  Ellen,  ask  me  any  thing,  make  me  promise  you  anj 
'Mng  ;  but  I  beg  you,  as  you  love  me,  as  you  know  tha* 


HIS    HARVARD    DAYS.  501 

I  love  you  more  dearly  than  all  the  world  besides,  not  to 
hold  me  haek  from  what  I  think  my  duty  in  this  case. 
You  don't  distrust  me?  You  believe  what  I  say?  Yes. 
I  thought  so.  God  bless  you  for  it !  Believe  me,  then, 
when  I  say  again,  what  I  have  said  so  many  times  before, 
that  I  love  3-011  dearly,  deeply,  hopefully ;  that  it  is  only 
the  thought  of  you  and  my  mother  that  causes  me  a 
moment's  pang,  a  moment's  hesitation  ;  but  that,  before 
God  and  yon,  I  swear  that  my  honor,  my  manhood,  the 
name  1  bear,  every  thing,  calls  me  to  this  war  in  defence 
of  my  country,  and  that  every  thing  must  give  way  before 
this  duty." 

The}-  walked  a,  moment  in  silence,  the  low  night-wind 
coming  with  a  delicious  coolness  to  their  excitement,  and 
the  distant  music  of  the  Glee  Club  detaining  their  thoughts 

~          .  ~ 

for  a  brief  space  from  the  sad  journey  on  which  they  were 
bound. 

"  Have  I  been  studying  the  lives  of  the  great  and  the 
patriotic  all  these  years,"  Hammersmith  went  on  ;  t;  have 
I  been  taught  to  admire  courage  and  honor,  and  noble 

O  O 

daring,  in  all  ages,  from  the  beginning  of  time  ;  and  do  I 
now  find  myself  wavering?  Xo,  no,  Ellen!  God  knows 
how  bitterly  I  hate  to  leave  3*011.  God  knows  how  eager!}' 
I  shall  look  forward  to  the  time  when  I  can  come  back  to 
}'on,  never  to  be  away  from  you.  But  now  my  mind  is 
made  up  —  I  must  go  !  " 

The  low  sobbing  which  he  felt  at  his  side,  and  which 
went  to  his  heart  as  he  spoke,  broke  into  a  single  cry  of 
grief;  and,  as  he  bent  over  the  fair  form  on  his  arm,  she 
lifted  her  face,  which  he  and  the  stars  looked  down  upon. 
and  saw  was  bright  with  tears.  Then  she  said.  — 

'•  You  are  right,  dear  Tom:  you  must  go.  I  was  very 
weak  to  think  of  keeping  you.  But  I  never  loved  any- 
body in  my  life  before  :  it  makes  it  all  the  harder  to  bear 
the  thought  of  being  separated  from  3^ou  now.  But,  when 


b02  HAMMEKSMTTH : 

you  talk  as  you  did  just  now,  Tom,  I  feel  how  weak  i 
have  been  ;  I  feel  how  much  stronger  and  noblei  you  are 
than  I, — yes,  }Tes,  please  let  me  say  so,  Tom!  it  is  sweet 
to  me  to  say  it,  —  and  I  love  3*ou  for  it,  and  am  thankful 
to  God  for  sending  you  to  me." 

And  presently  she  added,  "  You  will  promise  to  take 
good  care  of  j'ourself,  Tom?  You  will  promise  not  to 
expose  yourself  more  than  is  necessary?  " 

He  saw  how  her  mind  was  torn  and  agitated  with 
anxiety ;  and  so  he  answered  lightly,  — 

"  Bless  your  little  heart,  Ellen,  of  course  I  will !  I've 
no  great  desire  to  be  mowed  down  by  a  cannon-ball.  I've 
no  intention  of  swallowing  hot  shot  by  way  of  matutinal 
amusement.  I  shall  dodge  every  ball  I  can  see,  of 
course  ;  and  climb  trees,  when  the  engagement  is  too  hot ; 
and  bury  myself  in  baggage-wagons  at  every  opportu- 
nity "  — 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  will  never  do  that,  Tom  !  "  she  inter- 
posed more  cheerfully.  As  they  were  entering  the  quad- 
rangle, on  their  return,  they  fell  again  into  a  more  serious 
mood  ;  and  Hammersmith  said,  — 

"  How  can  I  help  taking  care  of  myself,  my  dear  Ellen,' 
when  I  have  }'ou  to  look  forward  to,  and  }*our  love  to 
cheer  me  at  every  turn  of  fortune !  Remember  what  I 
have  said  to  3^011  to-night ;  remember  that  I  have  never 
told  the  least  fraction  of  an  untruth  to  you  in  my  life,  and 
tl.at  I  mean  all  that  the  words  imply,  when  I  say  that  the 
world  would  be  very  dark  indeed,  and  life  not  worth  the 
living,  if  I  did  not  know  that  I  had  your  love  and  trust 
and  confidence.  You  know  that  3*011  have  mine,  dear 
Ellen ;  and  God  surely  does  not  mean  that  we  shall  be 
separated,  or  that  I  shall  fall,  as  you  fear,  in  my  first 
campaign." 

"I  shall  pray  that  you  may  not,  Tom;  but  I  wish  I 
could  be  sure  of  it.  I  wish  I  could  free  myself  from  the 
terrible  dread  that  chokes  me  ! ' ' 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  503 

When  they  went  back  to  the  quadrangle  and  Hammer- 
smith's rooms,  they  were  very  quiet  and  subdued ;  and 
Mr.  Tom  felt  himself  as  much  consecrated,  ennobled,  and 
uplifted  by  this  3'oung  woman's  love,  as  ever  a  young 
knight  that  buckled  on  his  armor,  and  went  forth  to  win 
his  spurs,  with  the  noble  words  of  knighthood  in  his  cars, 
and  his  fair  love's  favor  on  his  lance. 

Class-day,  with  its  tender  sentiment  and  lingering  fare- 
wells, is  over. 

The  baccalaureate  sermon,  preached  two  days  later,  in 
the  chapel,  by  the  beloved  Dr.  Brimblecom,  is  past.  It 
was  deep  and  earnest,  tender  and  thoughtful,  filled  with 
all  manner  of  cheerful  augury  and  manly  exhortation  for 
the  young  men  just  leaving  these  scenes  of  their  tutelage, 
and  entering  the  warfare  of  life.  Taken  in  connection 
with  all  the  sweets-sad  influences  of  class-day, — the  fiLnl 
farewells,  the  preparations  for  departure,  the  swearing  of 
eternal  friendships,  —  it  made  a  profound  impression  on 
the  3'oung  students,  who  had  so  often  clambered  into  these 
same  chapel-seats  in  headlong  haste,  somewhat  regardless 
of  the  sanctity  of  the  service ;  the  young  students,  who 
were  now  opening  their  eyes  for  almost  the  first  time,  on 
the  real  problem  of  life,  and  the  man's  part  that  they  were 
to  play  in  the  world. 

Commencement  and  Phi  Beta  Kappa  days  are  past, 
when  graver  masculine  throngs  again  filled  the  old  building, 
and  enjoyed  more  strictly  literaiy  entertainments,  relieved 
by  the  great  collegiate  dinners  in  Harvard  Hall,  to  be  sure, 
and  the  numberless  symposia,  of  the  classes  of  graduates, 
which  met  for  class  business  throughout  the  different  hulls. 

The  last  college-exercise  is  over.  The  last  college  and 
tradesman's  bill  is  paid  (let  us  fondly  hope) .  The  young 
graduates  have  each  packed  away  carefully  among  their 
university  belongings  the  little  sheepskins  which  pro- 


504  HAMMERSMITH : 

claim  in  elaborate  Latin  that  they  are  bachelors  of  arts, 
with  omnia  insignia  et  jura  ad  hunc  honorem  spectaniia. 
Such  men  as  are  so  minded  have  called  to  bid  good-by  to 
their  professors,  their  tutors,  their  Cambridge  friends ; 
and  the  last  tie  that  binds  the  class  of  Hammersmith  to 
the  old  university  as  undergraduates  is  severed.  Heaven 
ordain  that  deeper,  closer,  more  affectionate  relations  may 
draw  them,  as  graduates,  back  to  the  kind  mother  that 
has  borne  with  their  youthful  follies,  and  cherished  their 
youthful  li ves  so  fondly  ;  and  that  an  interest  born  of  ex- 
perience may  attach  them  more  and  more,  as  the  years  go 
by,  to  the  problem  of  the  college  government  and  the 
college  curriculum,  under  which  their  sons  and  grandsons 
shall  be  placed ! 

Hammersmith's  college-life,  then,  was  over.  His  four 
years  were  past ;  and  whatever  of  good  or  evil  influence 
they  had  brought  him,  whatever  of  earnestness  and 
wisdom  they  had  ingrafted  on  his  native  sturdiness  and 
impulsiveness  of  temperament,  whatever  they  had  given 
him  in  the  way  of  friends  and  counsellors  and  loving 
life-companions,  —  all  was  behind  him  now;  all  but  the 
sweet  memory  and  kindling  enthusiasm  born  of  this  hearty 
quadriennium  of  his  life  ;  all  but  the  living  faith  in  him- 
self, his  own  powers,  the  nobility  of  correct  living  and 
high  endeavor ;  all  but  the  few  strong  friends  among  his 
classmates  who  were  bound  to  him,  he  felt  convinced,  as 
by  bands  of  iron,  and  hooks  of  steel ;  all  but  a  professor 
or  a  tutor  here  and  there  who  had  been  drawn  to  him, 
and  was  likely  to  remain  his  friend  ;  all  but  this  fair  being 
at  his  side,  cheering  him,  strengthening  him,  more  than 
all  these,  by  her  love  and  her  trust. 

And  when,  with  numbers  of  his  classmates,  he  left, 
soon  after  commencement,  for  the  seat  of  war,  it  was 
with  many  backward  glances,  you  may  be  sure,  at  the 
happy  spot  where  so  man}r  splendid  days  of  his  youth  had 


HIS  HABVAED  DAYS.  505 

been  passed.  It  was  a  heart  as  heavy  as  poor  Breese's 
that  he  carried  away  with  him  that  day ;  but,  ah,  so  dif- 
ferently freighted  from  that  of  Brcese  !  For  it  was  filled 
heavy  with  love  and  anxiety,  and  infinite  tenderness  for 
the  dear  girl  left  weeping  under  her  Cambridge  elms,  — 
the  fair  Oriana,  who  had  shown  herself  at  her  lattice,  and 
smiled  upon  him,  when  he  was  fighting  his  bitter  fight  with 
himself  and  the  world. 

Into  that  sterner  fight,  those  redder  battle-fields,  where 
he  found  himself  so  soon,  he  carried  the  memory  of 
that  sweet,  courageous  face,  as  many  a  man  who  marched 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  him  was  carrying  some  other 
dear  features  continually  before  him.  Heaven  only  knows 
what  strength  and  courage  it  gave  him,  as  such  a  memory 
and  such  a  hope  give  any  man  who  believes  that  a  pure, 
sincere,  and  loving  woman  is  the  brightest  blessing  that 
the  sun  in  all  hi  a  wandering  shines  upon. 


506  HAMMERSMITH : 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

EXEUNT   OMNES. 

"  What  Is  the  fate  of  a  brave  man,  but  to  fall  amid  the  foremost?  He  who  I* 
sever  wounded  has  a  weary  lot."  —  DEATH-SONS  OP  EESNAB  LODBHOS. 

"  Their  good  swords  rust, 
And  their  steeds  are  dust; 
But  their  souls  are  with  the  saints,  we  trust." 

"VTEWS  of  a  bloody  struggle  on  a  Southern  battle- 
-L-^l  field  had  sent  a  thrill,  and  a  wail  of  consternation, 
throughout  the  entire  North.  Bulletins  from  the  seat  of 
war  were  being  scanned  with  an  anxiety  which  was  almost 
blinding  to  those  who  had  friends  and  relatives  in  that 
unhappy  army,  (as  who  had  not?)  when  the  following 
letter  came  to  Miss  Darby  in  her  Cambridge  home,  bring- 
ing a  sad  relief  to  her  fearful  suspense :  — 

HOSPITAL,  WASHINGTON,  19  July,  186-. 

MY  DEAR  Miss  DAEBY,  —  I  promised  you,  that,  if  Tom  ever 
joined  us  down  here,  I  would  look  after  him,  and  keep  you  in- 
formed of  his  welfare:  so  I  send  you  this  line  of  news. 

He  is  all  right.  Do  not  be  alarmed.  He  has  been  wounded,  not 
very  severely,  in  the  sword-arm,  and  sits  propped  up  in  the  next 
bed  to  mine,  smoking  a  placid  pipe,  taking  his  otium  cum  dig.,  aa 
he  just  tells  me  to  say  to  you.  He  cannot  write,  of  course,  and  so 
commissions  me  to  send  you  this  word  for  him.  He  will  scrawl  a 
left-handed  postcript,  he  says,  to  show  you  that  he  is  not  entirely 
used  up,  and  that  I  am  not  deceiving  you  with  pleasant  hopes. 

I  will  not  tell  you  how  it  all  happened,  but  leave  that  to  Tom, 
who  will  see  you  in  a  few  days.  But,  as  the  brave  fellow  will  not 
tell  you  more  than  half  the  truth  about  his  own  exploits  and 
behavior  on  that  terrible  day,  I  will  say  just  a  few  words  as  t« 
how  it  came  about. 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  507 

You  see  we  were  on  the  extreme  left  of  our  division.  The 
papers  and  despatches  will  have  told  you  how  tremendously  out- 
numbered we  were  by  the  "  rebs,"  and  how  division  after  division 
was  ambushed  and  almost  decimated.  The  memory  of  it  all  is  so 
sickening  and  horrible  to  me,  that  I  cannot  dwell  on  it.  It  was 
•such  a  carnage  and  slaughter  as  I  pray  Heaven  I  may  never  sea 
again.  I  do  not  wonder  now  at  peace  societies  and  philosophers, 
who  cry  out  against  the  insane  demonism  of  war. 

Well,  we  were  marching  ahead  in  the  gray  of  the  morning, 
hearing  firing  and  heavy  cannonading  on  our  right,  rather  in 
advance  of  our  line ;  and  just  as  we  were  crossing  a  narrow  clear- 
ing, which  seemed  to  have  been  recently  made,  we  were  met  by 
the  most  terrific  fire,  apparently  from  all  sides  at  once,  —  left,  right, 
and  front.  We  stood  our  ground  for  a  few  moments  and  exchanged 
several  rounds  with  the  enemy;  but  it  was  no  use.  They  out- 
numbered us  three  to  one;  and  we  almost  immediately  heard  a 
terrible  shouting  and  screaming  and  stampede  on  our  right,  which 
we  thought  at  first  meant  re-enforcements  for  the  "  rebs,"  but 
found  afterwards  to  be  our  own  army  in  retreat  on  the  road  that 
we  had  just  left. 

The  "rebs"  came  pouring  out  of  the  woods,  yelling  like  sav- 
ages; men  were  falling  about  me  on  every  side;  and  just  as  our 
column  wavered,  and  turned  to  run,  the  color-sergeant  was  killed. 
The  colors  lay  for  a  moment  neglected  on  the  ground ;  and  the 
next  instant  a  man  seized  them,  lifted  them  with  a  shout  which 
could  be  heard  above  the  roar  of  the  conflict,  and  faced  the  ene- 
my. I  shall  remember  that  shout  as  long  as  I  live,  Miss  Darby, 
and  longer.  It  was  Tom;  and  he  shouted  and  shouted  again,  as 
he  stood  with  his  hat  off,  his  hair  floating  in  the  breeze,  "My 
God,  men,  but  what  is  this?  Stand,  men,  stand!"  And  for  a 
brief  moment  there  was  a  halt  and  a  rally  by  those  within  sound 
of  his  voice.  I  could  have  cried  to  see  the  brave  fellow  standing 
'here,  holding  the  colors,  and  shouting  to  the  men.  I  need  not 
:?ay  that  I  thought  of  you,  my  dear  Miss  Darby,  and  prayed  that 
the  dear  fellow  might  come  out  safe  and  sound  for  your  sake,  if 
tor  no  other  reason. 

The  captain  of  our  company  rushed  past,  going  to  the  rear. 
Hammersmith  shouted  at  him.  The  captain  returned,  "  It  is  no 
use,  sir:  you  had  better  look  out  for  yourself."  And,  if  you  could 
have  seen  the  look  of  scorn  that  came  into  Tom's  eyes,  I  know 
you  would  have  been  prouder  of  him  than  ever  (if  that  were 
oossible),  and  would  have  rushed  to  him  as  Goldie  and  Thorpe, 


508  HAMMEBSMITH : 

Curtis  and  I,  did,  the  moment  we  saw  who  it  was  thyt  was  holding 
the  colors,  and  shouting. 

It  seemed  for  a  moment  as  if  the  rout  had  really  been  stayed. 
Our  men  had  turned,  and  commenced  firing,  when  a  ball  struck 
Tom  in  the  arm.  The  colors  went  down  again  for  just  an  instant, 
and  though  Thorpe  and  I  seized  them,  and  shook  them  aloft  in  a 
trice,  it  was  no  use.  One  of  those  panics  which  take  hold  of  the 
best  of  troops  seized  our  men.  We  were  left  almost  alone  with 
the  colors  in  the  centre  of  the  clearing;  and  we  turned  reluc- 
tantly to  flee. 

Tom  had  fallen  on  being  wounded ;  I  had  been  struck  with  a 
fragment  of  a  spent  shell,  which  took  away  my  breath,  and  stag- 
gered me ;  and  it  seemed  impossible  for  us  to  succeed  in  getting 
Tom  from  out  the  clutches  of  the  "rebs,"  when  a  company  of 
California  cavalry,  riding  as  I  never  saw  men  ride  before  in  all 
my  life,  came  swinging  up  through  the  woods  on  our  right,  and 
dashed  in  between  us  and  the  "  rebs."  They  slashed  and  fired 
away  at  the  "rebs,"  shouting  like  wild  Indians,  and  leaning  from 
their  saddles  to  the  right  and  the  left  as  they  galloped;  and  the 
"  rebs  "  were  checked  hi  their  advance,  retreating  to  their  cover. 
The  slashing  and  firing  were  still  going  on,  and  I  began  to  feel 
faint,  and  forget  where  I  was,  when  a  horseman  came  dashing  up 
to  where  we  fellows  were  holding  Tom  and  the  colors.  "  Good 
heavens!"  he  shouted.  "  Is  this  you,  Breese  ?  AndGoldie!  And 
Thorpe!  Who  is  that  in  the  middle?  Wounded?  What,  Tom! 
Tom,  my  dear  old  Tom! "  And  he  was  off  his  horse  like  a  shot, 
iiiid  hugging  the  old  fellow  till  I  thought  he  would  squeeze  all  the 
breath  out  of  his  body.  Tom  smiled  feebly,  and  we  all  felt  a 
.ittle  tearful  (if  I  may  judge  from  my  own  state  of  mind) ;  for  we 
recognized  in  this  slashing  rider,  bearded  like  a  pard,  and  tough 
as  a  bison,  Penhallow,  our  old  classmate,  and  Tom's  old  chum. 

It  was  no  time  for  reminiscences,  however.  We  exchanged  greet- 
ings rapidly,  scarcely  believing  our  senses,  and  thinking  at  the 
rate  of  a  hundred  ideas  to  the  second.  Then  Pen  said,  "  Come, 
Tom,  up  in  my  saddle,  old  boy!  Yes,  yes,  I'll  go  with  you;"  and 
M  e  helped  Tom  to  mount.  He  was  scarcely  mounted  when  Pen- 
hallow  gave  a  spring,  with  one  hand  on  the  rear  of  the  saddle; 
was  seated  on  the  horse's  back,  behind  Tom,  before  we  knew  how 
he  was  going  to  manage  it;  and  putting  his  arms  round  Tom,  and 
(ligging  his  spurs  into  his  horse's  flanks,  he  went  tearing  away 
with  him  at  a  rapid  jump.  We  gave  a  feeble  cheer,  which  sounds 
dismal  enough  to  me  as  I  recall  it,  and  then  turned  to  save  our- 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  509 

selves;  for  the  cavalry  had  only  temporarily  delayed  the  "rebs," 
and  that  miserable  rout  of  which  you  have  heard  so  much  was 
already  in  full  progress. 

I  need  not  tell  you  how  we  all  reached  Washington.  I  have 
written  too  much  already.  I  feel  very  tirsd,  and  have  occasion- 
ally to  catch  my  breath.  They  cannot  make  out  just  what  is  the 
matter  with  me.  Goldie  is  all  right,  came  out  without  a  scratch. 
Curtis  is  missing.  Thorpe  is  badly  wounded  in  the  leg. 

Tom  goes  home  day  after  to-morrow.  Goldie  will  accompany 
him.  Tom  can  be  of  no  service  for  some  weeks,  and  has  a  fur- 
lough of  a  month.  I  have  written  his  uncle  Gayton  by  this  mail 
to  meet  him  in  New  York:  he  will,  of  course,  be  delighted  beyond 
measure  if  you  can  make  it  convenient  to  meet  him  there  or  at 
home. 

I  must  take  this  place,  my  dear  Miss  Darby,  to  offer  my  con- 
gratulations on  your  engagement.    You  have  gained  the  love  of 
one  of  the  best  fellows  that  the  sun  ever  shone  upon,  and  I  thank 
Heaven  that  you  are  happy.    God  bless  you !  God  bless  you ! 
Always  devotedly  yours, 

JOHN  BKEESE. 

Following  this  letter,  which,  moved  Miss  Darby  not  a 
little,  and  left  her  bathed  in  tears,  came  a  few  scrawled 
lines  of  Tom's.  She  pressed  them  to  her  lips,  and  petted 
them  fondly,  and  cried  over  them,  as  she  had  cried  over 
nothing  since  that  sad,  sad  day  when  he  had  waved  a 
good-by  from  the  ranks  as  he  marched  away  with  his 
heart  in  his  mouth.  They  ran  as  follows :  — 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  WOOD-NYMPH, — Don' t  worry.  I'm  all  right. 
Eight  arm  a  bit  useless;  that's  all.  Not  good  for  much  fighting 
or  boxing  for  some  time.  Leave  for  home  day  after  to-morrow. 
Uncle  Gayton  will  call  on  you.  Come  if  you  can.  I  have  some- 
thing important  to  say  to  you. 

My  love  to  your  mother  and  the  professor.  I  thought  it  was 
all  up  with  me  for  a  while;  never  expected  to  see  you  again. 
Came  near  having  my  wish,  of  falling  in  my  first  fight.  Are  you 
glad  that  I  did  not?  Goldie  and  Breese  and  Penhallow  —  well, 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  them;  stunning  fellows.  No  Penhalloi<, 
no  Hammersmith;  great  thing!  Brass  monument  to  Penhallow 
mighty  horseman! 


510  HAMMERSMITH : 

Poor  Breese  is  miserable.  I  do  not  let  liim  see  it;  but  I'm  verj 
much  worried  abovit  him:  so  are  doctors.  I  cau  get  him  furlough ; 
but  he  will  not  leave. 

Au  revoir.  How  is  this  for  a  left-handed  opus  ?  I  feel  like  an 
old  veteran;  perhaps  you  will  not  know  me.  Think  you  will? 
Hope  so. 

Lovingly  thine, 

TOM. 

Two  weeks  later  the  village  bells  were  ringing  merrily, 
tlie  village  heart  was  dancing  gayly,  at  the  little  hamlet 
on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  where  Hammersmith's  early 
days  had  been  passed. 

Milliners,  jewellers,  tailors,  and  haberdashers  had  been 
put  hastily  to  work  to  do  their  very  neatest  handiwork  in 
preparation  for  a  certain  occasion  very  interesting  to  young 
people  generally,  and  to  Mr.  Tom  Hammersmith  and  Miss 
Darby  in  particular. 

Mr.  Gayton  Hammersmith,  in  faultless  blue  frock-coat, 
immaculate  linen,  the  shiniest  of  boots,  the  rosiest  and 
happiest  of  moods,  sat  reading  the  early  morning  New- 
York  papers  in  the  darkened  library  of  "Ivy  Hill." 
The  feminine  portion  of  the  household  was  pleasantly 
engaged  in  those  delightful  preliminaries  which  go  before 
such  interesting  occasions,  —  all  of  them  except  Miss 
Mabel,  who  was  wandering  in  the  shrubbery  with  Mr. 
Goldie,  regardless  of  her  delicate  finery ;  and  Miss 
Fa3*erweather,  who  stood  near  the  "Duke"  in  the 
library,  pulling  on  a  pair  of  gloves  of  fabulous  length 
and  number  of  buttons. 

There  is  a  rustic  on  the  stairwaj* ;  and  a  beautiful  young 
creature  glides  into  the  room,  smiling  and  blushing  as  she 
surveys  herself  in  the  pier-glass. 

Mr.  Gayton  drops  his  paper,  advances  as  he  might 
advance  to  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  or  any  other  dazzling 
potentate  that  could  be  mentioned,  and  performs  a  salute 
on  her  fair  brow  that  causes  her  to  blush  still  more,  and 


HIS   HARVARD   DAYS.  511 

Btill  more  prettily ;  that  causes  Mr.  Tom,  coming  in  be« 
hind  her,  to  shake  his  fist  menacingly  at  the  rapacious 
"Duke,"  and  Mr.  Gayton  himself  to  turn,  and  grasp 
Tom's  honest  left  hand,  sa3'ing,  — 

"Couldn't  help  it,  Tom!  Couldn't  help  it!  I  knew 
you  were  hors  de  combat,  too,  as  to  your  dexter  hand ; 
and  so  I  didn't  fear  you." 

"The  left  is  my  favorite,  sir,"  Mr.  Tom  answered. 
And  his  uncle  added,  — 

"God  bless  you,  my  boy!  God  bless  you!  It  is 
worth  going  to  the  war  for,  eh?  " 

And  when  Mr.  Tom  marched  down  the  aisle  of  the 
church  a  half-hour  later,  after  the  brief  ceremony  was 
over,  with  his  bride  on  his  arm,  and  the  sweet  village 
choir  made  music  above  them  as  they  went,  more  than 
one  pair  of  eyes  in  that  cose}'  little  church  was  dim  with 
tears,  more  than  one  heart  beat  quickly  to  see  that  hand- 
some young  couple  advancing  so  proudly,  so  confidently, 
so  trustingly,  —  the  great  broad-shouldered  soldier,  with 
his.  arm  in  a  sling,  and  a  firm,  determined  look  about  the 
mouth ;  the  sweet  young  bride,  with  downcast  eyes,  and 
head  bent  slightly  forward,  leaning  heavity  on  his  arm. 

It  is  an  interesting  occasion  indeed,  on  which,  with  its 
attendant  festivities,  I  might  like  to  linger  with  Mr.  Tom 
and  the  rest,  were  it  only  to  gratify  the  curiosit}'  of  my 
young  feminine  readers  (if,  haply,  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to 
have  such  at  this  stag*e  of  the  chronicle).  But  the  pen 
of  the  biographer  is  weary  with  a  history  already  pro- 
tracted far  bej'ond  its  original  limits  ;  and  a  single  act  yet 
remains,  before  the  curtain  shall  go  down  on  the  char- 
acters, young  and  old,  with  whom  Mr.  Tom's  college-life 
Kas  intimately  associated. 

The  flying  trip  which  the  young  couple  made  to  Albany 
and  Lake  Champlain,  a  favorite  haunt  of  Hammer- 
smith's younger  years,  was  over,  and  the  time  for  Tom's 


51 2  HAMMERSMITH : 

return  to  his  regiment  had  nearly  come,  when  one  of 
those  fatal  yellow  envelopes  which  strike  terror  into  so 
many  hearts  was  handed  to  Mr.  Tom.  He  opened  it 
hastily,  and  read,  — 

WASHINGTON,  Aug.  15, 18ft-. 
THOS.  HAMMERSMITH,  The  Landing,  Hudson  River,  N.Y. 

Breese  failing  rapidly.    You  had  better  come  on  at  once. 

G.  GOLDIH. 

He  passed  it  without  a  word  to  his  wife. 

"  When  can  we  go?  "  she  asked. 

"  Good !     I'm  glad  you'll  go,  Ellen,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  go.     When  is  the  first  train?  " 
/'  In  an  hour  and  a  half,  if  we  can  flag  the  express." 

The  next  morning  the  3'oung  soldier  and  his  beautiful 
bride  were  in  Washington,  making  their  way  to  the  hospi- 
tal which  Hammersmith  had  so  recently  left,  Goldie  meet- 
ing them  with  a  carriage  at  the  station. 

It  was  by  no  means  the  first  time  that  Mrs.  Tom  Ham- 
mersmith had  entered  the  wards  of  a  hospital,  and  yet,  it 
was ;  for,  often  as  Miss  Darby  had  gone  on  her  delicate 
errands  of  mercy  to  the  little  Cambridge  hospital,  this  was 
the  first  time  that  she  had  crossed  the  threshold  of  one 
of  those  sad,  solemn  houses  as  Mrs.  Tom. 

It  was  with  a  strange  mingling  of  courage  and  timidity 
that  she  advanced  after  her  cousin  Goldie,  through  the 
long  line  of  white  beds,  whose  occupants  stared  not  a 
little,  and  opened  pleased  e}'es  of  Admiration  at  the  beau- 
tiful apparition  and  her  manly  escort ;  some  of  them 
nodding  familiarly  to  Mr.  Tom. 

She  was  courageous,  because  she  was  walking  proudly, 
in  the  consciousness  of  youth  and  health  and  happiness, 
on  the  arm  of  Mr.  Tom,  a  hero,  who  had  been  one  in 
her  eyes,  long  before  the  episode  of  the  colors  had  come 
to  stamp  him  with  its  imprimatur.  She  was  timid,  for 
she  was  going  to  meet  the  man  who  had  placed  all  his  life, 


HIS   HARVARD  DAYS.  513 

his  genius,  Iiis  nobility  of  character,  at  her  feet,  and  who 
had  gone  off,  like  the  brave-hearted  gentleman  that  he 
was,  to  meet  the  enemy,  perhaps  his  death,  at  the  call  of 
his  country. 

More  than  once,  too,  he  had  come  to  the  rescue  of  her 
beloved  Tom,  as  on  this  final  battle-field ;  and  now  he 
was  lying  at  the  portal  of  death,  perhaps  even  now  be}-ond 
the  power  of  recognizing  his  old  friends,  his  old  class- 
mates. 

It  was  as  Goldie  had  feared.  Breese  did  not  recognize 
them.  He  was  in  one  of  his  wandering  moods  again. 
He  only  opened  his  e\es  in  wonder,  as  Tom  advanced  and 
put  Ms  arm  about  his  neck,  and  smiled  sadly,  when  Ell^n, 
her  eyes  Med  with  tears,  stooped  and  kissed  his  broad 
forehead,  white  as  a  girl's  now,  after  his  month's  confine- 
ment in  the  hospital. 

The  next  day,  and  the  next,  it  was  the  same. 

But,  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day,  he  smiled  more 
cheerfully  as  the  friends  came  forward,  and,  reaching  out 
his  hand,  said  naturally  enough,  — 

"Ah,  Miss  Darby,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you!  "  And 
then  he  relapsed  quiet,  closing  his  eyes  as  if  from  excess 
of  happiness. 

"Yes,  I'm  here,"  returned  Mrs.  Tom,  taking  one  of 
his  great  hands  in  hers,  "and  you  are  looking  better; 
and  I'm  glad  3~ou  know  us,"  she  added.  But  he  kept  his 
eyes  closed  for  a  long",  long  while,  and  at  length  opened 
them  quickly,  saying  in  an  excited  voice,  — 

"  It's  getting  dark,  Miss  Darb}-.  Hadn't  I  better 
shout  for  your  father?  The  woods  are  very  lonesome  at 
night."  And  presently  again,  as  the  friends  bowed 
their  heads,  — 

"It's  getting  dark,  Miss  Darby.     I  don't  see  but  I 

shall  have  to  carry  you."     He   leaned   forward  quickty, 

»  and  put  out  his  arms,  as  if  he  would  take  her  up,  as  ou 


514  HAMMERSMITH : 

that  dark  night  of  the  Mount  Desert  accident,  so  man) 
months  ago.  Tom  would  have  caught  him,  if  his  dis- 
abled arm  had  allowed  ;  but,  before  he  could  put  his  left 
arm  about  him,  Ellen  had  thrown  her  arms  about  the  sick 
man's  shoulders,  and  supported  him. 

Presently  he  said  with  a  glow  of  satisfaction,  — 

"All,  they're  coming!  I  see  the  lights!  I'm  very 
sorry  you  are  in  pain,  Miss  Darby." 

Then  his  mind  seemed  to  take  a  long  jump  from  Mount 
Desert,  as  Tom  caught  hold  of  one  of  his  hands  ;  and  he 
exclaimed  eagerly,  — 

"  My  God,  what  is  this,  men  !  Where  are  the  colors? 
Ah,,  Tom!  "  And  with  this  last  word  on  his  lips,  and 
the  arms  of  the  only  woman  that  he  had  loved  in  all  the 
world  about  him,  — the  woman  whom  he  would  have  died 
to  serve,  whom  he  had  served  with  a  patient,  pure,  and 
noble  life, — he  dropped  his  head  on  her  shoulder.  He 
had  found  peace  and  rest  at  last. 

The  soft  summer  wind  was  stirring  in  the  tree-tops 
below  the  opened  windows.  Across  the  Potomac,  Tom, 
looking  mournfully  out,  saw  the  fair  wooded  slopes  of 
Arlington  Heights,  surmounted  by  the  colors  that  had 
been  the  last  thought  in  Breese's  mind.  An  evening  gun 
came  dreamily,  in  softened  echo,  across  the  intervening 
water.  The  muffled  beat  of  a  passing  regimental  band 
was  faintly  heard.  Far  down  the  winding  reaches  of  the 
river,  dotted  with  sails  and  flags,  and  over  the  city  quiver- 
ing with  the  very  life-heart  of  the  nation,  the  setting  sun 
was  throwing  a  golden  light,  which  transfigured  every 
commonest  object,  and  told  of  places  where  war  and  con- 
flict and  carnage  are  things  unknown.  All  the  world 
seemed  at  peace  for  that  brief  moment,  and  all  sweet  in- 
fluences to  unite  in  proclaiming  quiet  and  calm  and  infinite 
rest,  when  the  great  soul  of  Brecse,  which  had  been 


HIS  HA11VARD   DAYS.  515 

filled  with  such  noble  planning,  and  had  so  vexed  itself  in 
the  pursuit  of  the  purest  ideals  here  below,  was  flooded 
with  the  light  which  searches  every  ideal,  and  glorifies 
every  patient,  struggling  spirit. 

God  keep  him !  And  God  grant  that  the  memory  of 
him,  and  such  as  he, — their  steadfast  lives,  their  noble 
deaths,  —  ma}r  blossom  in  heroic  example,  and  days  wiscty 
spent ;  that,  above  all,  the  youth  who  succeed  him  and 
his  fellows  in  the  old  university  halls  may  not  quite  for- 
get the  bright  lesson  that  they  set,  —  a  lesson  easy  to  all 
who  have  the  courage  to  dare,  and  the  stout  heart  to  fol- 
low great  plans. 

And  now,  when  these  annals  are  compiled,  the  long 
agony  of  the  war  is  many  years  past,  and  the  fickle  Fates 
have  ordered  many  a  varying  fortune  to  the  young  men 
associated  in  these  pages.  "When  they  gather  at  com- 
mencements and  rare  class-daj's,  it  is  with  wofully  thinned 
ranks,  to  be  sure  ;  for  the  implacable  Shearer  has  been  as 
busj'  with  the  threads  of  their  lives  as  has  old  Time  with 
the  hairs  of  their  heads  and  the  crow's-feet  about  their 
young  eyes.  But  their  talk  is  of  those  old  days,  the  hotter 
days  of  their  college-life.  All  the  enmity  and  bickerings 
of  those  punctilious  times  are  quite  forgot ;  and  the  mel- 
lowing years  only  bring  a  greater  ripeness  and  sweetness 
to  the  3'oung  friendships  which  showed  their  first  blos- 
soms so  long  ago  in  the  old  university  town. 

Another  cottage  has  sprang  up  at  Ivy  Hill,  which 
the  stout-hearted  proprietor  has  dubbed  "  The  Ledge." 
It  stands  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  point,  whence  a  dozen 
long  strides  will  take  the  mighty  boating-man  Goldie  from 
his  door  to  the  boat-house  and  his  favorite  wherry.  If 
rou  were  very  inquisitive,  and  were  to  watch  him  some 
fair  afternoon,  when  he  comes  up  early  from  New  York 


516  HAMMERSMITH : 

bursting  into  the  house  with  all  his  old-time  enthusiasm, 
as  he  used  to  burst  into  Hammersmith's  room  in  the  Cam- 
bridge da}rs,  }'ou  would  see  him  greet  a  sweet  young 
matron  Avhom  we  have  seen  before,  (who  was  very  fearful, 
on  a  certain  class-day,  that  she  was  going  to  have  nobody 
to  take  care  of  her,  and  would  have  ' '  such  a  stupid 
time  !  ")  and  3*011  might  hear  him  say,  — 

"Come,  Mabel,  get  ready  for  a  little  pull.  Tom  and 
Ellen  are  going ;  and  there  are  some  college-men  staying 
at  Iluddiman's,  who  will  join  us,  I  think."  And  present- 
ly you  might  see  the  pretty  river-party  floating  out  upon 
the  broad  bosom  of  the  Hudson,  Hammersmith  and 
Goldie  by  no  means  forgetting  the  cunning  which  their 
early  training  had  taught  them  at  the  oar,  but  not  quite 
appearing  to  relish  a  "  spurt,"  or  a  three-mile  stretch,  as 
in  their  slimmer  years  ;  very  willing  to  let  the  festive  and 
ambitious  undergraduates  of  the  party  attempt  all  that. 

Hammersmith  and  his  wife  are  with  his  mother  in 
the  old  home.  Mr.  Gaj'ton  has  been  weaned  from  his 
club  ways  sufficiently  to  spend  a  half-year  annually  with 
the  happy  young  people  in  the  two  cottages  (Goldie  keep- 
ing a  sunny  room  always  at  his  command) .  And  there  is 
a  merry,  full-hearted  life  lived  among  the  people  on  that 
breezy  little  point,  which  may  well  detain  the  aging 
"  Duke,"  as  well  as  }'ou  and  me,  and  any  one  who  loves 
cheerfulness  and  happy  content,  wherever  he  sees  them. 

The  old  "Duke"  is  never  happier,  indeed,  than  when 
listening  to  the  young  people's  plans,  and  joining,  in  his 
own  meriy  way,  in  all  their  routs  and  festivities,  yes,  and 
sharing  the  griefs  and  trials  that  fall  to  their  lot.  lie 
is  a  great  ally  of  Mrs.  Hammersmith  mere,  in  her  devo- 
tion to  the  interests  of  the  church  of  which  her  sainted 
husband  had  had  charge ;  and  he  plays  the  part  of 
great-uncle  with  the  successful  dignity  and  Oriental  mag- 
nificence without  which  he  would  not  be  Mr.  Gayton 
'lammersmith,  the  "  Duke." 


HIS  HABVAED  DAYS.  517 

Goldie  and  Hammersmith  are  associated,  I  will  not  say 
if  in  business  or  professional  life,  lest  some  one«say,  "  Oh, 
Hammersmith  was  never  cut  out  for  a  doctor !  "  or 
another  interpose,  "  I  hate  to  think  of  Hammersmith  and 
Goldie  as  mewed  up  in  a  law-office  !  "  or  a  third  exclaim, 
"  Hammersmith  a  merchant !  Isn't  it  too  bad?  He's  so 
honest  and  impulsive,  that  I  know  he'll  be  cheated  and 
never  get  on,"  — for  everybody  must  have  his  sa}-  and  his 
little  wish  in  disposing  of  the  characters  in  a  chronicle 
that  interests  him,  as,  of  course,  this  chronicle  interests 
an}'  one  who  has  followed  patiently  to  this  far-off  page. 

So  I  will  let  every  one  imagine  the  two  in  whatsoever 
occupation  he  pleases,  although  I  myself  know  very  well 
what  it  is.  I  know,  too,  that  thej'do  "  get  on,"  and  very 
famously,  thanks  to  their  sturdy  qualities  and  their  acute- 
ness  ;  and  that,  when  I  assume  the  distant  relative's  privi- 
lege, and  sit  at  their  well-laid  tables  for  a  brief  season, 
I  cannot  sufficiently  admire  and  envy  them  their  happy 
households  and  well-earned  fortunes. 

Now  and  then,  when  a  fracas  occurs  in  the  nursery 
overhead,  where  }"oung  John  Brecse  Hammersmith  is  per- 
haps trying  his  small  fists  on  his  nurse,  I  have  heard 
Hammersmith  exclaim,  — 

"  Confound  the  little  beggar!  Is  he  going  to  yell  all 
the  evening,  my  dear?  " 

And  his  wife  will  say,  — 

"  Don't  call  him  by  that  name,  Tom  dear!  I'm  sure 
he's  not  a  little  beggar !  That's  what  you  used  to  call 
my  little  orphans  in  the  Cambridge  hospital.'*" 

•;  And  that's  why  1  like  the  name,"  Mr.  Tom  has  been 
heard  to  say,  laying  down  his  paper. 

"You  don't  think  you've  been  '  taken  in,5  then?  "  she 
has  been  known  to  ask,  by  way  of  reply.  Then  she  would 
come  over  to  Mr.  Tom,  —  the  lucky  fellow  !  —  and  stroke 
bis  hair,  or  lay  her  hand  in  his,  and —  But,  bless  me !  the 


518  HAMMERSMITH : 

very  memory  of  the  young  fellow's  good-fortune  causes  a 
mist  to  gather  over  this  page  as  I  write  ;  and  I  lay  down 
the  pen,  thanking  God  that  I  have  been  permitted  to  see 
sueh  perfect  happiness  and  perfect  trust.  For  they  minded 
me  no  more  than  they  minded  the  great  Newfoundland 
dog  that  lay  on  the  rug,  —  the  successor  of  "Trim,"  — 
or  the  neat-handed  Phillis  that  came  in  to  remove  the  tea- 
things  ;  Mr.  Tom  occasionally  exclaiming,  "Oh,  never 
mind  !  cousin  Harry  doesn't  care  ;  do  you,  Hariy  ?  "  while 
his  wife  would  blush  as  becomingly  as  ever,  and  say, 
"You  wretched  man!  How  can  you  act  so!"  and 
cousin  Hany,  the  present  biographer,  would  feel  very 
uncomfortable  and  very  envious,  and  very  like  breaking 
the  commandments.  Such  consideration  have  young  mar- 
ried people,  as  the  great  Lamb  has  suggested,  for  the 
feelings  of  less  fortunate  humanity ! 

Ruddiman  the  bold,  from  being  quite  a  pronounced 
"muff"  and  do-nothing  in  his  college-days,  has  developed, 
through  the  agency  of  the  war  (which  did  so  much  for  men 
of  his  stamp) ,  into  a  brisk  junior  partner  in  the  house  of 
Ruddiman  and  Son,  where  he  is  laying  up  treasures  for 
himself  against  the  day  of  matrimony.  For  he  still  ranges 
the  world  untrammelled  by  domestic  ties,  ever  blithe  and 
resplendent  as  in  those  golden  da3Ts  of  his  youth,  devoted 
as  ever  to  the  softer  sex,  but,  for  some  reason  unknown 
to  the  present  writer,  never  succeeding  in  securing  himself 
a  mate  from  out  the  gay  throngs  of  young  women  to  which 
his  ardent  societ}'-life  introduces  him.  The  festive  gor- 
geousness  of  apparel  which  marked  his  }'outh  has  been 
toned  down  into  a  more  business-like  sobriety ;  but  his 
rooms  in  the  city  and  in  the  country  retain  all  and  more 
than  all  of  the  splendor  of  his  college-quarters.  He  lives 
in  the  midst  of  plunder  gathered  from  every  quarter  of  the 
habitable  globe,  around  which  he  has  made  two  complete 
voyages  since  we  last  saw  him.  The  array  of  Indian  leg 


HIS  HARVABD  DAYS.  519 

gings  and  war-clubs,  Persian  cimcters,  Oriental  pipes  and 
screens  and  squat  idols,  Esquimau  snow-shoes,  German 
smoking-caps  of  elaborate  pattern,  and  a  thousand  other 
giuicracks,  is  something  quite  overpowering  to  one  unac- 
quainted with  the  acquisitive  Ruddiman  habit.  His  house 
is  full  of  roistering  young  college-men  in  vacation-time. 
He  is  devoted  to  his  horses  and  other  rapid  friends  as  of 
3*orc.  Any  fine  afternoon,  indeed,  in  spring  and  autumn, 
you  may  see  him  prancing  through  Central  Park,  after 
office-hours,  on  the  sleekest  of  horses,  sporting  the  bright- 
est of  spurs  and  bits,  and  altogether  wearing  a  look  of 
the  most  consummate  satisfaction  with  himself  and  the  rest 
of  mankind.  He  is  still  a  picturesque  addition  to  the  land- 
scape, as  Miss  Darby  so  long  ago  called  him  in  the  glen 
at  Mount  Desert.  He  is  a  very  cheerful  sight. 

Freemantle  has  stumbled  upon  a  career  which  quite 
accommodates  his  languid  temperament,  in  the  manage- 
ment of  extensive  tobacco  interests  in  Cuba,  where  he 
makes  flying  visits  twice  a  3*ear  or  more,  returning  to 
Boston  with  marvellous  brands  of  cigars  and  tobacco, 
undreamed  of  by  plebeian  counter-customers,  and  regaling 
his  friends  with  the  same ;  where,  too,  his  wife,  nee 
Malachite,  in  the  casual  trips  that  she  makes  with  him, 
has  added  a  more  captivating  radiance  to  her  already 
Spanish  style  of  beauty ;  and  returning  whence,  the  two 
arc  apt  to  stop  for  a  time  in  New  York,  and  run  up  to 
make  a  brief  visit  at  the  little  coloiry  of  Harvard  men  on 
the  banks  of  the  Hudson. 

You  may  be  sure  that  the  old  days  and  the  old  friends 
are  talked  over,  wept  over,  and  laughed  over  on  such  occa- 
sions, and  that  Ruddiman  is  in  his  clement.  lie  has  been 
known,  indeed,  at  various  festive  moments,  to  attempt  a 
species  of  badinage  with  the  dangerous  Mrs.  Freemantle, 
ypropos  of  the  devotion  of  his  youth ;  declaring,  on  one 
occasion,  that  nobody  knew  how  near  he  came  once  to 


520  HAMMERSMITH : 

making  a  fool  of  himself  (this  with  a  knowing  look  a\ 
Mrs.  Frcemantle,  and  a  glance  at  the  rest)  ;  and,  of  course, 
nobody  felfc  like  gainsaying  him  when  he  put  it  in  that 
light,  least  of  all,  Mrs.  Freemantle !  But  they  all  kept 
up  a  tremendous  amount  of  thinking,  I  doubt  not,  and 
probably  said  to  themselves,  as  his  college-friends  had 
been  used  to  say  aloud,  on  similar  embarrassing  occasions, 
"  Oh,  Ruddiman !  Never  mind,  it's  only  Ruddiman !  " 

Peuhallow  has  not  received  the  monument  of  brass  for 
saving  Hammersmith's  life,  which  Mr.  Tom  prophesied  in 
his  hospital  note,  to  be  sure ;  but  a  sturdy  friendship, 
worthy  of  such  commemoration,  still  exists  between  the 
old  college  chums. 

Hammersmith  has  invested  quite  extensively  in  Califor- 
nia sheep  and  cattle,  under  Pen's  advice,  and  made  quite 
recently  a  flying  trip  to  the  land  of  which  he  had  heard  so 
much  extravagant  praise,  finding  it  more  than  justified  by 
the  glorious  reality.  He  dismounted  from  his  horse  in  the 
little  canon  by  the  Santa  Barbara  beach,  while  making  a 
horseback  trip  with  Penhallow  through  the  countiy,  and 
felt  all  his  past  life  surging  up  before  him  as  he  looked 
down  at  the  small  slab  with  "  G-.  Tufton"  rudely  carved 
upon  it.  He  felt  again  how  small  the  world  is,  how 
one's  past  life  pursues  him  like  a  relentless  Fury ;  and 
after  a  few  words  from  Pen,  descriptive  of  the  memora- 
ble ride  and  the  scene  in  the  little  canon  that  dark  night, 
they  mounted  their  horses,  and  turned  sorrowfully  away. 

Young  Dick  Hammersmith,  who  has  long  since  gone 
through  the  old  university  with  considerable  credit  and  the 
usual  Hammersmith  experience,  has  joined  Penhallow  and 
Simmons,  assuming  the  care  of  his  brother's  sheep  and 
cactle.  The  Spanish  major-domo  who  was  left  in  charge 
of  the  stock  of  Simmons  and  Penhallow  when  they  went 
to  the  war  served  them  the  trick  that  major-domos  are  apt 
to  serve  their  principals ;  and  the  young  men,  returning, 


HIS  HARVARD  DAYS.  52} 

found  a  sad  diminution  in  the  amount  of  their  four-footed 
property.  Care  and  thrift  have  long  since  made  good  the 
loss,  however ;  and,  for  Simmons's  part,  what  would  he 
care  for  the  loss  of  ten  thousand  sheep,  or  his  entire 
patrimony,  in  view  of  the  new  wealth  that  has  recently 
flowed  in  upon  him!  For  what  is  this?  and  this?  and 
this  ?  A  side-saddle  !  A  riding- whip !  Miss  -Fayer- 
weather  swinging  in  a  hammock  under  the  live-oaks ! 
Yes,  Miss  Fayerweather  the  obdurate,  the  spurner  of 
Simmons  when  he  was  a  plodding  law-student  of  civili- 
zation, now  the  wife  of  as  sterling  a  fellow  as  ever  put 
foot  in  stirrup,  or  won  golden  spurs  in  the  great  war 
which  called  him  away  to  fight,  and  to  win  his  love. 

There  are  more  Boston  books,  more  seductive  ham- 
mocks, more  rooms,  added  to  the  old  'dobe  on  the  Simi; 
and  3'oung  Dick,  who  has  so  recently  left  his  books  and 
the  close  halls  of  civilization,  writes  home  the  most  glow- 
ing accounts  of  the  wild  joys  of  "Western  life  and  the 
perfect  little  household  of  which  he  forms  an  exuberant 
member.  He  has  a  favorite  phrase,  that  "  the  great 
problem  of  modern  life  is  how  not  to  be  bored  to  death 
by  the  flummeries  of  civilization  ;  "  and  if  one  may  judge 
from  his  ecstatic  sentences,  and  the  bulletins  of  the  young 
fellow's  height  and  weight,  appetite  and  perfect  happi- 
ness, one  would  say  that  he  has  found  the  life  which 
suits  his  Hammersmith  temperament  at  any  rate,  and 
might  question  if  he  were  not  about  right,  after  all.  At 
least  you  and  I,  my  dear  Philippus,  knowing  whereof  he 
writes,  and  all  the  enchantment  of  the  country  that  he 
praises,  might  say  as  much,  and  settle  in  our  minds  that 
tie  is  right,  entirety  right,  and  no  mistake.  But  then 
young  Dick  will  be  set  down  as  an  enthusiast,  and  you 
and  I  as  designing  people  with  Western  lands  to  sell; 
jo  that  we  can  hardly  hope  to  be  believed. 

And  the  little  Boggle,  who  came  so  near  causing  a  sud- 


622  HAMMERSMITH : 

den  finale  to  this  biograph}-,  by  reason  of  the  remorse  aud 
despair  of  poor  Hammersmith  over  his  entanglement,  — 
nobody  ever  learned  to  what  new  role,  to  what  fresh  fields, 
she  descended.  Penhallow  and  Tom  included  Los  Angeles 
in  the  little  trip  above  mentioned,  and  spent  a  few  days 
among  its  marvellous  vineyards  and  orange-groves,  inquir- 
ing casually  the  while  for  news  of  her 'whereabouts.  They 
learned  nothing,  except  that  she  had  left  the  untheatrical 
cit}T,  when,  with  whom,  for  what  place,  nobod}'  knew ; 
and  may  God  have  mercy  on  her  in  her  wanderings  ! 

Of  all  the  souvenirs  of  the  happy  college-days,  —  the 
badges,  cups,  oars,  medals,  cricket-bats,  prizes,  with  which 
Hammersmith's  library  is  decorated, — there  are  two  in 
especial  that  interest  him  above  the  rest,  —  a  pair  of 
boxing-gloves,  hanging  in  an  honored  post  above  the 
mantel;  a  set  of  books,  —  an  Emerson,  a  Thoreau,  a 
Marcus  Aurelius,  an  Epictetus,  a  Carlyle,  —  with  the 
strong  name  "John  Breese,"  in  a  bold  hand,  on  the  fly- 
leaf of  each  volume. 

Every  August,  on  the  nineteenth  day  of  the  month,  — 
and  often  at  other  times  during  the  year,  when  he  is  at 
home  quietly  with  his  wife,  —  Mr.  Tom  takes  down  the 
well-thumbed  volumes,  scored  with  man}T  a  mark  by  the 
pencil  of  the  dead  Breese,  and  reads  his  favorite  passages. 
As  the  two  sit  there  reading  and  talking  of  their  lost 
friend,  their  minds  go  back  to  the  brave,  fresh  days  of  their 
youth,  and  they  recall  many  things  to  make  them  sad,  but 
more  to  make  them  glad.  And,  if  then1  cousin  Hany  is 
present,  he  sits  quietly  in  his  corner,  in  the  chaise-longue, 
pretending  to  be  asleep ;  for  he  knows  that  the  couple 
there,  with  the  books  of  their  dear  friend  and  their  happy- 
sad  thoughts  between  them,  are  busy  with  memories  and 
reveries  too  sacred  for  his  intrusion. 

Happj7,  happy,  college-days  !     When  are  friendships  sc 


HIS  HAEVAKD  DAYS.  523 

ardent,  so  unquestioning!  When  does  the  wine  of  life 
sparkle  so  brightly,  so  enticingly  !  When  are  the  skies  so 
full  of  rainbows  !  When  do  we  so  expect  to  live  always 
in  unfailing  youth  !  All !  when,  and  when,  and  when  ! 

"They  were  happy,  gloriously  happy  days,  weren't  they, 
Nell?  "  Hammersmith  would  say  as  they  read  and  mused 
by  the  lamplight. 

"  Yes,  dear  Tom,  but  not  the  happiest." 

"  No,  no!  But  3*011  know  I've  been  'taken  in'  since 
then ;  and  now  I'm  a  miserable  old  fellow  indeed !  "  he 
would  sa}r,  putting  on  a  mock-lugubrious  expression.  And 
one  of  those  demonstrative  scenes  to  which  I  have  alluded 
was  veiy  likely  to  ensue.  At  last  Hammersmith  would 
turn,  and  shout,  — 

"  Halloo,  Harry,  wake  up !  '  Little  birds  will  begin  to 
sing  soon.' '  And  the  figure  in  the  long-chair  would  stir 
itself,  and  relate,  j^awning,  what  pleasant  dreams  it  had 
had,  —  a  hypocrite  is  cousin  Harry ! 

But,  for  all  Mr.  Tom's  banter,  I  can  see  that  a  great 
tenderness  takes  possession  of  him  after  one  of  these  read- 
ings. I  know  that  on  the  following  day  he  is  very  apt  to 
return  from  town  laden  with  marvellous  toys  for  the  young 
John  Breese,  and  extravagant  presents  for  his  wife,  which 
cause  her  to  lift  her  hands  in  thankful  surprise.  For  the 
heart  of  Hammersmith  is  still  as  tender  and  impressiona- 
ble as  a  child's  (as  the  hearts  of  strong,  impulsive  men  are 
apt  to  be)  ;  and  I  do  not  wonder  that  he  is  thankful  for 
the  happiness  that  has  come  to  him.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  he  feels  infinitely  softened  at  thought  of  the  broad- 
brained  Breese,  who  was  so  near  winning  the  love  that  is 
now  his,  and  who  died  so  nobly,  fronting  his  duty. 

And  Thorpe  and  Albemarle  and  Curtis,  and  the  rest? 
All,  it  is  a  sad,  sad  page  to  write ;  and  Ball's  Bluff,  Clian- 
cellorsville,  Bull  Run,  and  a  score  of  battlefields,  must  be 
Bet  down,  if  you  would  know  the  way  that  they  quitted 


524  HAMMERSMITH. 

themselves.  Some  have  survived,  —  some  that  went  down 
into  that  terrible  war ;  some  bear  still  the  marks  of  the 
conflict ;  some  feel  still  the  effects  of  the  foul  imprison- 
ment, the  low  Virginia  swamps,  the  nameless  horrors  of 
tvar.  Some  are  already  conspicuous  at  the  bar,  in  the 
pulpit,  with  the  pen,  in  all  the  varied  peaceful  arts. 

Yonder  Memorial  Hall,  that  lifts  its  calm  front  where 
the  youth  of  Hammersmith's  day  had  their  first  fierce 
struggle  with  the  truculent  sophomores,  has  written  the 
names  of  some  on  its  immortal  tablets,  where  the  throng- 
ing youth  of  to-day,  who  come  up  annually  to  the  old  uni- 
versity, may  read  the  bright  record  and  the  brightening 
names.  The  lives  of  these  will  not  have  been  in  vain,  if 
they  shall  teach  their  successors  in  the  happy  college  walks 
and  wa3rs,  consecrated  by  their  heroic  feet,  that  courage, 
high  daring,  devoted  sacrifice  of  self,  are  not  alone  to  b« 
admired  among  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans,  with 
whose  histories  the  youth  are  busy,  but  that  the  more 
prosy  present  is  packed  full  of  equal  possibilities,  and  that 
simple,  steadfast  h'ves  alone  are  glorious. 


of  fiction* 

PUBLISHED   BY 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY, 
4  PARK  ST.,  BOSTON  ;  n  E.  I7TH  ST.,  NEW  YORK. 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


Story  of  a  Bad  Boy.  Illustrated.  I2mo  .  . 
Marjorie  Daw  and  Other  People.  I2tno  .  . 
The  Same.  Riverside  Aldine  Series.  i6mo 

Prudence  Palfrey.     121110 

The  Queen  of  Sheba.     121110 

The  Stillwater  Tragedy.     121110 


50 
•5° 
.00 

•50 

.50 
.50 


Hans  Christian  Andersen. 

Complete  Works.     In  ten  uniform  volumes,  crown  8vo. 
A  new  and  cheap  Edition,  in  attractive  binding. 

The  Improvisatore ;  or,  Life  in  Italy i.oo 

The  Two  Baronesses i.oo 

O.  T. ;  or,  Life  in  Denmark i.oo 

Only  a  Fiddler i.oo 

In  Spain  and  Portugal i.oo 

A  Poet's  ISazaar i.oo 

Pictures  of  Travel i.oo 

The  Story  of  my  Life.     \Vit!i  portrait i.oo 

Wonder  Stories  told  for  Children.     Illustrated  .     .     .  i.oo 

Stories  and  Tales.     Illustrated i.oo 

The  set 10.00 

William  Henry  Bishop. 

Detmold  :  A  Romance.    "  Little  Classic  "  style.  i8mo  1.25 

The  House  of  a  Merchant  Prince.     I2mo 1.50 

Choy  Susan,  and  other  Stories.     i6mo 1.25 

Bjornstjerne  Bjornson. 

Works.  American  Edition,  sanctioned  by  the  author, 
and  translated  by  Professor  R.  B.  Anderson,  of  the 
University  of  Wisconsin. 

Svnnove  Solbakkei> I.oo 

The  Bridal  March,  and  Other  Stories i.oo 


2  Works  of  Fiction  Published  by 

Captain  Mansana,  and  Other  Stories $1.00 

Complete  Works,  seven  volumes  in  three.  I2mo. 
The  set 4.50 

Alice  Gary. 

Pictures  of  Country  Life.     I2mo 1.50 

John  Esten  Cooke. 

My  Lady  Pokahontas.     i6mo 1.25 

James  Fenimore  Cooper. 

Complete  Works.  New  Household  Edition,  in  attrac- 
tive binding.  With  Introductions  to  many  of  the 
volumes  by  Susan  Fenimore  Cooper,  and  Illustra- 
tions. In  thirty-two  volumes,  i6mo. 

Precaution.  The  Prairie. 

The  Spy.  Wept  of  Wish-ton-Wish. 

The  Pioneers.  The  Wrater  Witch. 

The  Pilot.  The  Bravo, 

Lionel  Lincoln.  The  Heidenmauer. 

Last  of  the  Mohicans.  The  Headsman. 

Red  Rover.  The  Monikins. 

Homeward  Bound.  Miles  Wallingford. 

Home  as  Found.  The  Red  Skins. 

The  Pathfinder.  The  Chainbearer. 

Mercedes  of  Castile.  Satanstoe. 

The  Deerslayer.  The  Crater. 

The  Two  Admirals.  Jack  Tier. 

Wing  and  Wing.  The  Sea  Lions. 

Wyandotte.  Oak  Openings. 

Afloat  and  Ashore.  The  Ways  of  the  Hour. 

( Each  volume  sold  separately. ) 

Each  volume i.oo 

The  set 32.00 

New  Fireside  Edition.    With  forty-five  original  Illustra- 
tions.    In  sixteen  volumes,  121110.     The  set    .     .     .  20.00 
{Sold  only  in  sets. ) 

Sea  Tales.     New  Household  Edition,  containing  Intro- 
ductions by  Susan  Fenimore  Cooper.     Illustrated. 
First  Series.     Including  — 

The  Pilot.  The  Red  Rover. 

The  Water  Witch.  The  Two  Admirals. 

Wing  and  Wing. 

Second  Series.     Including  — 

The  Sea  Lions.  Afloat  and  Ashore. 


HougJiton,  Mifflin  and  Company.  3 

Jack  Tier.  Miles  Wallingford. 

Tlie  Crater. 

Each  set,  5  vols.  i6mo $5.00 

Leather-Stocking  Tales.   New  Household  Edition,  con- 
taining Introductions  by  Susan  Fenimore  Cooper.     Il- 
lustrated     In  five  volumes,  i6nio. 
The  Deerslayer.  The  Pioneers. 

The  Pathfinder.  The  Prairie. 

Last  of  the  Mohicans. 

The  set 5.00 

Cooper  Stories ;  being  Narratives  of  Adventure  se- 
lected from  his  Works.  With  Illustrations  by  F.  O. 
C.  Darley.  In  three  volumes,  i6mo,  each  ....  i.oo 

Charles  Egbert  Craddock. 

In  the  Tennessee  Mountains.     i6mo      ...."..  1.25 

The  Prophet  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains.     l6mo  .  1.25 

Down  the  Ravine.    Illustrated.     i6mo i.oo 

In  the  Clouds.     i6mo 1.25 

Thomas  Frederick  Crane. 

Italian  Popular  Tales.  Translated  from  the  Italian. 
With  Introduction  and  a  Bibliography.  8vo  .  .  .  2.50 

F.  Marion  Crawford. 

To  Leeward.     i6mo 

A  Roman  Singer.     i6mo 

An  American  Politician.     i6mo    ........ 

Maria  S.  Cummins. 


The  Lamplighter.     121110 
El  Fureidis.     i2mo     . 
Mabel  Vau^han.     lanio  . 


Parke  Danforth. 

Not  in  the  Prospectus.     In  "  Riverside  Paper  Series." 
i6mo,  paper  covers 50 

Daniel  De  Foe. 

Robinson  Crusoe.     Illustrated.     i6mo i.oo 

P.  Deming. 

Adirondack  Stories.     "Little  Classic"  style.     iSmo  .       .75 
Tompkins  and  other  Folks.     "  Little  Classic "  style. 
i8mo i.oo 

Thomas  De  Quincey. 

Romances  and  Extravaganzas.     I2mo 1.50 

Narrative  and  Miscellaneous  Papers.     i2mo      .     .     .     1.50 


4  Works  of  Fiction  Published  by 

Charles  Dickens. 

Complete  Works.  Illustrated  Library  Edition.  With 
Introductions  by  E.  P.  W  hippie.  Containing  Illus- 
trations by  Cruikshank,  Phiz,  Seymour,  Leech,  Mac- 
lise,  and  others,  on  steel,  to  which  are  added  designs 
of  Barley  and  Gilbert,  in  all  over  550.  In  twenty- 
nine  volumes,  I2mo. 

The  Pickwick  Papers,  2  vols.  Dombey  and  Son,  2  vols. 
Nicholas  Nickleby,  2  vols.      Pictures  from   Italy,  and 
Oliver  Twist.  American  Notes. 

Old  Curiosity  Shop,  and  Re-   Bleak  House,  2  vols. 
printed  Pieces,  2  vols.         Little  Dorrit,  2  vols. 
Barnaby  Rudge,  and  Hard     David  Copperfield,  2  vols. 

Times,  2  vols.  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities. 

Martin  Chuzzlewit,  2  vols.      Great  Expectations. 
Our  Mutual  Friend,  2  vols.     Edwin      Drood,      Master 
Uncommercial  Traveller.  Humphrey's  Clock,  and 

A  Child's  History  of  Eng-          Other  Pieces. 

land,  and  Other  Pieces.       Sketches  by  Boz. 
Christmas  Books. 

Each  volume $i-S° 

The  set.     With  Dickens  Dictionary.     30  vols .    .  45.00 
Christmas  Carol.    Illustrated.    8vo,  full  gilt ....     2.50 

The  Same.    321110 75 

Christmas  Books.    Illustrated.     I2mo 2.OO 

Charlotte  Dunning. 

A  Step  Aside.     i6mo 1.25 

Edgar  Fawcett. 

A  Hopeless  Case.  "  Little  Classic "  style.  i8mo  .  1.25 
A  Gentleman  of  Leisure.  "  Little  Classic  "  style.  i8mo  i.oo 
An  Ambitious  Woman.  I2mo  ........  1.50 

Fenelon. 

Adventures  of  Telemachus.     1 2«io    .......    2.25 

Mrs.  James  A.  Field. 

High-Lights.     i6mo    ............     1.25 

Harford  Flemming. 

A  Carpet  Knight.     i6mo 1.25 

Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouqu6. 

Undine,  Sintram  and  his  Companions,  etc.  321110  .  .  .75 
Undine  and  other  Tales.  Illustrated.  i6mo  .  .  .  1.00 


Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company.  5 

Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe. 

Wilhelm   Meister.     Translated  by  Thomas  Carlyle. 

Portrait  of  Goethe.     In  two  volumes.     12010  .    .    .  $3.00 
The  Tale  and  Favorite  Poems.    321110 75 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 

Vicar  of  Wakefield.     Handy-Volume  Edition,    321110, 

gilt  top i.oo 

The  Same.    "  Riverside  Classics."    Illustrated.    i6mo      1.00 

Jeanie  T.  Gould  (Mrs.  Lincoln). 

Marjorie's  Quest.     Illustrated.     12010 1.50 

Thomas  Chandler  Haliburton. 

The   Clockmaker ;  or,  The  Sayings  and  Doings  of 

Samuel  Slick  of  Slickville.     Illustrated.     161110      .      i.oo 

A.  S.  Hardy. 

But  Yet  a  Woman.     16010 1.25 

The  Wind  of  Destiny.     16010 1.25 

Miriam  Coles  Harris. 

Rutledge.  A  Perfect  Adonis. 

The  Sutherlands.  Missy. 

Frank  Warrington.  Happy-Go-Lucky. 

St.  Philips.  Phoebe. 

Richard  Vandermarck. 

Each  volume,  iGmo .    .     1.25 

Louie's  Last  Term  at  St.  Mary's.     i6mo I.OO 

Bret  Harte. 

The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,  and  Other  Sketches.  16010  1.50 
The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,  and  Other  Stories. 

Riverside  Aldine  Series.     i6mo i.oo 

Mrs.  Skaggs's  Husbands,  and  Other  Sketches.  i6mo  1.50 
Tales  of  the  Argonauts,  and  Other  Stories.  16010  .  1.50 
Thankful  Blossom.  "  Little  Classic  "  style.  i8mo  .  1.25 
Two- Men  of  Sandy  Bar.  A  Play.  l8mo  ....  i.oo 

The  Story  of  a  Mine.     i8mo 1.00 

Drift  from  Two  Shores.     i8mo 1.25 

Twins  of  Table  Mountain,  etc.  i8mo  .  .  .  .  .  1.25 
Works.  Rearranged,  with  an  Introduction  and  a 

Portrait.     In  five  volumes,  crown  8vo. 
Poetical  Works,  and  the  drama,  "  Two  Men  of  Sandy 

Bar,"  with  an  Introduction  and  Portrait 
The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,  and  Other  Stories. 
Tales  of  the  Argonauts  and  Eastern  Sketches. 


6  Works  of  Fiction  Published  by 

Gabriel  Conroy. 

Stories  and  Condensed  Novels. 

Each  volume $2.00 

The  set 10.00 

Flip,  and  Found  at  Blazing  Star.     i8mo i.oo 

In  the   Carquinez  Woods.     i8mo i.oo 

On  the  Frontier.    "  Little  Classic "  style.    i8mo     .     .  i.oo 

By  Shore  and  Sedge.     "  Little  Classic  style."     i8mo  i.oo 

Maruja.    A  Novel.     "  Little  Classic "  style.     iSmo   .  i  oo 

Snow-Bound  at  Eagle's.   "  Little  Classic  "  style.    i8mo  i.oo 
The  Queen  of  the  Pirate  Isle.    A  Story  for  Children. 

Colored  Illustrations  by  Kate  Greenaway.     410      .  1.50 

Wilhelm  Hauff. 

Arabian  Days  Entertainments.     Illustrated.     I2mo    .     1.50 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

Works.  New  Riverside  Edition.  With  an  original 
etching  in  each  volume,  and  a  new  Portrait.  With 
bibliographical  notes  by  George  P.  Lathrop.  Com- 
plete in  twelve  volumes,  crown  8vo. 

Twice-Told  Tales. 

Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse. 

The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,  and  The  Snow-Image. 

The  Wonder-Book,  Tanglewood  Tales,  and  Grand- 
father's Chair. 

The  Scarlet  Letter,  and  The  Blithedale  Romance. 

The  Marble  Faun. 

Our  Old  Home,  and  English  Note-Books.     2  vols. 

American  Note-Books. 

French  and  Italian  Note-Books. 

The  Dolliver  Romance,  Fanshawe,  Septimius  Felton, 
and,  in  an  Appendix,  the  Ancestral  Footstep. 

Tales,  Sketches,  and  Other  Papers.  With  Biograph- 
ical Sketch  by  G.  P.  Lathrop,  and  Indexes. 

Each  volume 2.00 

The  set 24.00 

New  "  Little  Classic"  Edition.  Each  volume  contains 
Vignette  Illustration.  In  twenty-five  volumes,  i8mo. 

Each  volume i.oo 

The  set 25.00 

New  Wayside  Edition.  With  Portrait,  twenty-three 
etchings,  and  Notes  by  George  P.  Lathrop.  In 
twenty-four  volumes,  I2mo,  gilt  top 36.00 

New  Fireside  Edition.     In  six  volumes,  i2mo    .     .     .  10.00 

A  Wonder-Book  for  Girls  and  Boys.  Holiday  Edi- 
tion. With  Illustrations  by  F.  S.  Church.  4to  .  .  2.50 


Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company.  7 

Twice-Told  Tales.     School  Edition.     iSmo   ....    $l.oo 
The  Scarlet  Letter.     Holiday  Edition.     Illustrated  by 

Mary  Hal  lock  Foote.     8vo,  full  gilt 3.00 

Popular  Edition.     I2mo I.OO 

True  Stories  from  History  and  Biography.     I2mo      .      1.25 

The  Wonder-Book.     12010 1.25 

Tangle  wood  Tales.     12  mo 1.25 

The  Snow-Image.     Illustrated  in  colors.     Small  4to  .      .75 
Grandfather's  Chair.     Popular  Edition.     i6mo,  paper 

covers     15 

Tales  of  the  White  Hills,  and  Legends  of  New  Eng- 
land.   32tno 75 

Legends  of  Province  House,  and  A  Virtuoso's  Col- 
lection.   32mo 75 

True   Stories  from   New  England   History.       i6mo, 
boards 45 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

Elsie  Venner.     A  Romance  of  Destiny.    Crown  8vo  .      2.00 

The  Guardian  Angel.     Crown  8vo 2.00 

The  Story  of  Iris.     32010 75 

My  Hunt  after  the  Captain.     32010 40 

A  Mortal  Antipathy.    Crown  8vo    .......      1.50 

Augustus  Hoppin. 

Recollections  of  Auton  House.     Illustrated.     Small 

4to 1.25 

A  Fashionable  Sufferer.     Illustrated.     I2mo      .     .    .  1.50 

Two  Compton  Boys.     Illustrated.     Small  4to  .    .     .  1.50 

Blanche  Willis  Howard. 

One  Summer.     A  Novel.     Holiday  Edition.     I2mo    .     1.50 
New  Popular  Edition.   Illustrated  by  Hoppin.    izmo      1.25 

William  Dean  Howells. 

Their  Wedding  Journey.     Illustrated.     I2mo    .    .    .     1.50 
The  Same.     Illustrated.     Paper  covers.     i6mo  .50 


The  Same.  "  Little  Classic  "  style.  i8mo 
A  Chance  Acquaintance.  Illustrated.  I2mo  . 
The  Same.  Illustrated.  Paper  covers.  i6mo 
The  Same.  "  Little  Classic  "  style.  i8mo 


1.25 

1.50 

•5° 

1-25 


A  Foregone  Conclusion.     I2mo 1.50 

The  Lady  of  the  Aroostook.     I2mo 1.50 

The  Undiscovered  Country.     I2mo 1.50 

Suburban  Sketches.     I2mo 1.50 

A  Day's  Pleasure,  etc.     32010       . 75 


8  Works  of  Fiction  Published  by 

Thomas  Hughes. 

Tom   Brown's    School-Days    at   Rugby.     Illustrated 

Edition.     i6mo $I.OO 

Tom  Brown  at  Oxford.     i6mo 1.25 

Henry  James,  Jr. 

A  Passionate  Pilgrim,  and  Other  Tales.     I2mo      .    .  2.00 

Roderick  Hudson.     I2mo 2.00 

The  American.     I2mo 2.00 

Watch  and  Ward.     "  Little  Classic "  style.     i8mo    .  1.25 

The  Europeans.     I2mo 1.50 

Confidence.     I2mo 1.50 

The  Portrait  of  a  Lady.     I2mo 2.00 

Anna  Jameson. 

Studies  and  Stories.     New  Edition.     x6mo,  gilt  top  .      1.25 
Diary  of  an  Ennuyee.    New  Edition.    1 6m o,  gilt  top  .      1.25 

Douglas  Jerrold. 

Mrs.  Caudle's  Curtain  Lectures.    Illustrated.     i6mo    .     i.oo 

Sarah  Orne  Jewett. 

Deephaven.     i6mo 1.25 

Old  Friends  and  New.    i8mo 1.25 

Country  By-Ways.     i8mo .25 

The  Mate  of  the  Daylight.     i8mo 25 

A  Country  Doctor.     i6mo 25 

A  Marsh  Island.     i6mo 25 

A  White  Heron  and  Other  Stories.     i8mo 25 

Rossiter  Johnson. 

"  Little  Classics."  Each  in  one  volume.     i8mo. 
I.  Exile.  X.  Childhood. 

II.  Intellect.  XI.  Heroism. 

III.  Tragedy.  XII.  Fortune. 

IV.  Life.  XIII.  Narrative  Poems. 
V.  Laughter.  XIV.  Lyrical  Poems. 

VI.  Love.  XV.  Minor  Poems. 

VII.  Romance.  XVI.  Nature. 

VIII.  Mvstery.  XVII.  Humanity. 

IX.  Comedy.  XVIII.  Authors. 

Each  volume i.oo 

The  set 18.00 

The  Same.     In  nine  volumes,  square  i6mo   ....  13.50 
(Sold  only  in  sets.) 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 

Tales  from  Shakespeare.     i8mo i.oo 


Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company.  9 

The  Same.     Illustrated.     i6mo $l.oo 

The  Same.    Handy-Volume  Edition.    32mo,  gilt  top  .     1.00 

Harriet  and  Sophia  Lee. 

Canterbury  Tales.    In  three  volumes.    The  set,  i6mo    3.75 

Henry  Wads  worth  Longfellow. 

Hyperion.    A  Romance.     i6mo 1.50 

Popular  Edition.     i6mo 40 

Popular  Edition.     Paper  covers,  l6mo 15 

Outre-Mer.     i6mo 1.50 

Popular  Edition.     i6mo 40 

Popular  Edition.    Paper  covers,  i6mo 15 

Kavanagh.     i6mo 1.50 

Flora  Haines  Loughead. 

The  Man  who  was  Guilty.     i6mo,  paper  covers      .    .      .50 

Married  for  Fun. 

By  an  Anonymous  Author.     i6mo,  paper  covers    .     .      .50 

S.  Weir  Mitchell. 

In  War  Time.     i6mo 1.25 

Roland  Blake.     i6mo 1.25 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps. 

The  Gates  Ajar.     i6mo 50 

Beyond  the  Gates.     i6mo 25 

Men,  Women,  and  Ghosts.     i6mo 50 

Hedged  In.     i6mo 50 

The  Silent  Partner.     i6mo 50 

The  Story  of  Avis.     i6mo 50 

Sealed  Orders,  and  Other  Stories.     i6mo 50 

Friends  :  A  Duet.     i6mo 25 

Doctor  Zay.     i6mo 25 

An  Old  Maid's  Paradise.     i6mo,  paper  covers  ...       .50 

Burglars  in  Paradise.     l6mo,  paper  covers 50 

Madonna  of  the  Tubs.     Illustrated.     I2mo 1.50 

Marian  C.  L.  Reeves  and  Emily  Read. 

Pilot  Fortune.     i6mo 1.25 

Riverside  Paper  Series. 

1.  But  Yet  a  Woman.    By  A.  S.  Hardy. 

2.  Missy.   By  Miriam  Coles  Harris. 

3.  The  Stillwater  Tragedy.     By  T.  B.  Aldrich. 

4.  Elsie  Venner.     By  O.  W.  Holmes. 

5.  An  Earnest  Trifler.     By  Mary  A.  Sprague. 

6.  The  Lamplighter.     By  Maria  S.  Cummins. 

7.  Their  Wedding  Journey.     By  W.  D.  Howells. 


io  Works  of  Fiction  Published  by 

8.  Married  for  Fun.     Anonymous. 

9.  An  Old  Maid's  Paradise.     By  Miss  E.  S.  Phelps. 

10.  The  House  of  a  Merchant  Prince.    By  W.  H. 

Bishop. 

11.  An  Ambitious  Woman.     By  Edgar  Fawcett. 

12.  Marjorie's  Quest.      By  Jeanie  T.  Gould. 

13.  Hammersmith.     By  Mark  Sibley  Severance. 

14.  Burglars  in  Paradise.   By  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps. 

15.  A  Perfect  Adonis.     By  Miriam  Coles  Harris, 
io.  Stories  and  Romances.     By  H.  E.  Scudder. 

17.  Leslie  Goldthwaite.    By  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney. 

18.  The   Man  who  was   Guilty.     By  Flora  Haines 

Loughead. 

19.  The  Guardian  Angel.     By  O.  W.  HolrrJIs. 

20.  The  Cruise  of  the  Alabama.   By  P.  D.  Haywood. 

21.  Prudence  Palfrey.     By  T.  B.  Aldrich. 

22.  Pilot  Fortune.     By  Marian   C.  L.  Reeves  and 

Emily  Read. 

23.  Not  in  the  Prospectus.     By  Parke  Danforth. 

24.  Choy  Susan,  and  Other  Stories.  By  W.  H.  Bishop. 

25.  Sam    Lawson's    Fireside    Stories.      By   Harriet 

Beecher  Stowe. 

26.  A  Chance  Acquaintance.     By  W.  D.  Howells. 
Each  volume,  i6mo,  paper  covers $0.50 

Riverside  Pocket  Series. 

1.  Deephaven.     By  Sarah  Orne  Jewett. 

2.  Exile.    ("Little  Classics.") 

3.  Adirondack  Stories.     By  P.  Deming. 

4.  A  Gentleman  of  Leisure.     By  Edgar  Fawcett. 

5.  Snow-Image,  and  other  Twice-Told  Tales.    By 

N.  Hawthorne. 

6.  Watch  and  Ward.     By  Henry  James. 

7.  In  the  Wilderness.     By  C.  D.  Warner. 

8.  Study  of  Hawthorne.     By  G.  P.  Lathrop. 

9.  Detmold.     By  W.  H.  Bishop. 

10.  Story  of  a  Mine.     By  Bret  Harte. 

Each  volume,  i6mo,  cloth 50 

Joseph  Xavier  Boniface  Saintine. 

Picciola.    Illustrated.    i6mo i.oo 

Jacques  Henri  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre. 

Paul  and  Virginia.     Illustrated.     i6mo i.oo 

The  Same,  together  with  Undine,  and  Sintram.   321110      .75 


Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company.          n 
Sir  Walter  Scott. 

The  Waverley  Novels.  Illustrated  Library  Edition. 
Illustrated  with  loo  engravings  by  Darley,  Dielman, 
Fredericks,  Low,  Share,  Sheppard.  With  glossary 
and  a  full  index  of  characters.  In  25  volumes,  12  mo. 

Waverley.  The  Antiquary. 

Guy  Mannering.  Rob  Roy. 

Old  Mortality.  St.  Ronan's  Well. 
Black  Dwarf,  and  Legend      Redgauntlet 

of  Montrose.  The  Betrothed,  and  The 

Heart  of  Mid-Lothian.  Highland  Widow. 

Bride  of  Lammermoor.  The  Talisman,  and  Other 

Ivanhoe  Tales. 

The  Monastery.  Woodstock. 

The  Abbot.  The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 

Kenilworth.  Anne  of  Geiersteiru 

The  Pirate.  Count  Robert  of  Paris. 

The  Fortunes  of  Nigel.  The  Surgeon's  Daughter, 

Peveril  of  the  Peak.  and  Castle  Dangerous. 
Quentin  Durward. 

Each  volume $1.00 

The  set 25-00 

Tales  of  a  Grandfather.     Illustrated  Library  Edition. 

With  six  steel  plates.     In  three  volumes,  i2mo  .     .     4.50 
Ivanhoe.    Popular  Edition.     12 mo i.oo 

Horace  E.  Scudder. 

The  Dwellers  in  Five-Sisters'  Court.     i6mo  ....     1.25 
Stories  and  Romances.     i6mo 1.25 

Mark  Sibley  Severance. 

Hammersmith  :  His  Harvard  Days.     I2mo   ....     1.50 

J.  E.  Smith. 

Oakridge  :  An  Old-Time  Story  of  Maine.     I2mo   .    .     2.00 

Mary  A.  Sprague. 

An  Earnest  Trifler.     i6mo 1.25 

William  W.  Story. 

Fiammetta.     i6mo 1.25 


12  Works  of  Fiction, 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 

Agnes  of  Sorrento.     I2mo $i-SO 

The  Pearl  of  Orr's  Island.     I2mo 1.50 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.     Illustrated  Edition.     12010  .    .  2.00 

The  Minister's  Wooing.     I2mo i.ijo 

The  Mayflower,  and  Other  Sketches.     I2mo      .     .     .  1.50 

Dred.     New  Edition,  from  new  plates.     I2mo   .     .     .  1.50 

Oldtown  Folks.     I2mo 1.50 

Sam  Lawson's  Fireside  Stories.     I2mo 1.50 

My  Wife  and  I.     Illustrated.     I2mo 1.50 

We  and  Our  Neighbors.     Illustrated.     I2mo     .     .     .  1.50 

Poganuc  People.     Illustrated.     I2mo 1.50 

The  above  eleven  volumes,  in  box 16.00 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.     Holiday  Edition.     With  Intro- 
duction, and  Bibliography  by  George  Bullen,  of  the 

British  Museum.     Over  100  Illustrations.     I2mo     .  3.00 

The  Same.     Popular  Edition.     I2mo I.OO 

Gen.  Lew  Wallace. 

The  Fair  God ;  or,  The  Last  of  the  'Tzins.     I2mo  .  1.50 

Henry  Watterson. 

Oddities  in  Southern  Life.     Illustrated.     i6mo  .    .    .  1.50 

Richard  Grant  White. 

The  Fate  of  Mansfield  Humphreys,  with  the  Episode 

of  Mr.  Washington  Adams  in  England.     l6mo      .  1.25 

Adeline  D.  T.  Whitney. 

Faith  Gartney's  Girlhood.     Illustrated.     I2mo  .    .     .  1.50 

Hitherto :  A  Story  of  Yesterdays.     I2mo      ....  1.50 

Patience  Strong's  Outings.     I2mo 1.50 

The  Gayworthys.     I2mo 1.50 

Leslie  Goldthwaite.     Illustrated.     I2mo 1.50 

We  Girls :  A  Home  Story.     Illustrated.     I2mo    .     .  1.50 

Real  Folks.     Illustrated.     I2mo 1.50 

The  Other  Girls.     Illustrated.     I2mo 1.50 

Sights  and  Insights.     2  vols.  I2mo 3.00 

Odd,  or  Even  ?     I2mo 1.50 

Boys  at  Chequasset.     Illustrated.     I2mo 1.50 

Bonnyborough.     I2mo 1.50 

Home-Spun  Yarns.    Short  Stories 1.50 

Lillie  Chace  Wyman. 

Poverty  Grass.     i6mo 1.25 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


